You stuck your fingers up me and didn’t even know my name

You grabbed my ass and blamed it on the drink in your hand

You kissed my neck and pulled me into you

I was yours for the night---that one night.

 

I was too drunk and you knew. Yet you kept going

You kept going down on me further and further.

My bra somehow came off and you began to suck

I didn’t know what was going on. I felt so numb.

 

Numb to my entire life.

Numb to the fact that I will never be truly loved.

Numb to feeling anything.

Numbness is my therapy.

 

The ceiling fan kept spinning.

It spins the same way at the same speed everyday.

My life is a ceiling fan;

The same depressing routine every fucking day.

 

Guys like you are the reason I don’t feel anything.

Guys like you make me feel like an object.

Guys like you can never be trusted.

Guys like you make me feel validated by approval of my body.

 

You didn’t fuck me because in your mind sex is the only version of rape.

Touching every inch of my body isn't though.

It doesn’t count. Right?

The fact that you put my head on your dick isn’t rape.

 

Or the fact that you fingered me and sucked my tits isn’t rape.

The fact that you took me back to your dorm when i was drunk out of my mind isn’t rape.

It's just not. Rape is only sex. Sex is rape. But other stuff isn’t.

You weren’t drunk at all. You’re a great guy. Thank you for a great night.