Genevieve Sarnak

Chokehold

The first time you wrap your hands around my throat,
you teach me how to surrender fully—tap, tap, tap
—just in case our lines become a tangle
and trap us beneath sinew and lust. This threat
to the ordinary is terrifying, so we learn how to map
our numbness instead: avoid the moat between us, wrangle
voids with practiced care, the words left unsaid.
I learned to crave the breathless pain, pulled the thread
of your love with eager anticipation of the struggle,
the pleasure of being crushed hard enough to crack—tap,
tap, tap—like egg oozing out of its shell. I played your pet,
fed on vagueness and the saccharine words you dangled
in front of me, always a careless afterthought.
 
The thing is, I’m tired of being silent.
Fed up with strangling myself to let you breathe.
So take your hands off my neck, my love. I won’t relent
this time. Your hold on me is over: I won’t grieve.

Genevieve Sarnak is a writer, librarian, and teacher who lives in Western, MA. Her writing primarily explores themes of identity, resilience, and resistance in the search for belonging. When not working on her novel, Genevieve spends her time teaching creative writing, walking with an audiobook, and collecting all the stickers.