Me Too

skin, not bone. Me too much space.
Me too Facebook entangled with hometown
where rapist was too police recruit, too
would-be hero. Hometown too eager to yank

dirty laundry out of air. Me too
much a performance but not
gone enough from where boys will be boys will be
wolves will be Army officers. Me too

seen by another man’s daughter. & doesn’t
she have a right to me, too?
to see some version of me not
in her father’s teeth?

I fell out gritty, too often daydreaming myself
a boy— all open knees and
questions. Too queer to illusion
myself safe from not-

men who, too, my body
a waiting MRE. Me assaulted by woman & still
too unafraid of night but of
drowning in ‘me too’: a narrative too narrow.

How could I put words to this body?

No, me—

Jeni Prater