line

No one ever told us about consent.

There were men and their inclinations, their desires, uncontrollable needs.

There was a line and we had to hold it.

Our grandfather, fathers, our pastors, all sticking to the doctrine of

“you as a young woman, must not entice attention,

and if you find yourself in a relationship, you set the boundary

and you must keep it”

All the impetus thrust on us.

And for those of us who didn’t get in our stance,

flex our muscles, shout “No!” ,

those of us who let the line drop,

there’d be no crying or whining about whatever happened.

We’d let it. We’d invited it.

If no means no, what does silence mean?

What should it say to the man on top of you

when you look away, past him, over his shoulder.

into the distance, longing to roll back time,

wishing you’d been not quite so pretty,

not quite so flirtatious, not quite so…

when you lie there wondering

is a muted soul, a willing one?