After much deliberation, I have decided to bring this poem out. In my pieces, I usually have the poetry positioned first and the commentary second, but this time, my work requires a bit of foreword. The subject matter beyond this point pertains to sexual assault.
In this poem, I ventriloquize the story of someone I know, and I want it to make your blood boil. I want you to read this piece and writhe with the anger I write with. I want you to be upset, I want you to be angry, I want you to be hurt, and I don’t want you to look away.
Oppression, pain, and trauma are the children of irreverence and indifference, each rooted in the womb of “oh, it doesn’t concern me, so I don’t wanna talk about it.” But change, awareness, and empathy demand dialogue. To be silent in cases of injustice or violence is to be complicit. This is not to say that one should decide a course of action on behalf of a victim – no, the point of this statement is to say that if a survivor comes forth, you are obligated to believe them and help them in whatever capacity you are able. Furthermore, if you see incidences of or even mere hints of rape culture, it is your responsibility as a human being to shut it down.
I urge you to read on if you are able. Sexual assault is a heavy topic, but that is why it must be addressed.
Consent
She is young
And in love
She is ripe
With life
She is untouched
And though tempted by lust
She is just
Not quite ready
To take the plunge.
He is watching
He is wanting
To taste the bounty
That is her body
But he knows she is not ready
To share it yet;
But, he persists
I’ve waited long enough
For this
And I will have
My taste
Of her body’s chaste
Fruit.
So he begins to choose
For her, as if
She has nothing to lose:
Filling her cup
With a little too much
Making her munch
On too large of a blunt
Getting her just
A little too drunk
Spiking her drink
Just enough so she can’t think, can’t see–
As he undoes her belt, slips off her jeans
Tosses them to the floor, along with his own
And dives into her panties.
She cannot bring herself to move
With her mind and muscles bogged down in booze
But her slackened face needs no translation
And her voice reeks with the stench of hesitation
As a plea of “no” slips through her lips
Which he pretends not to hear, as he slips himself in
And in
And deeper in
Her contorted features don’t convince him to abstain
Or refrain
Or exit
As he takes his full
And disregards her expression–
“No” she tries to say; but her voice goes away
“No” she tries to scream
As her body throbs and bleeds
“No” she tries to whisper
Hoping he can hear her
But it makes no difference
As he continues to touch
And continues to rove
The body she was not ready
To let him explore–
This is not sex. This is not sex.
Is what she says to herself, again and again
Even as he lets himself out
And she feels hollowed out
She murmurs the words she lacks the energy to say aloud—
This is not sex. This is not sex.
He walks out like nothing is wrong, but she stays plastered to the bed
Shaking as she pulls close her legs
This is not sex This is not sex–
I did not
Give him consent.
Consent is not
Drugging and abetting
Consent is not
Cornering and breaking
Consent is not
Being manipulated
Consent is not
Feeling violated
Consent is something that is voluntarily GIVEN
And it has no right
By ANYONE
To be forcibly taken
Call it what you will and say
what you may
But any sex without consent
Is oppressive painful scarring–
It is RAPE.
–let’s not lie to ourselves and claim she was “asking for it,” okay?
~ Maaheen Shaikh `25
