Live for freedom
  die without consent!

such a heavenly taste it has,
the softness of the intentions so inviting and warm.
I feel you smile against me,
oh how the sun will shine on this moment in my memory.

vastly different from when a kiss isn’t just a kiss...
such a hellish taste it has,
the roughness only being soothed in passing by spit.
your hands are daggers against my hips,
oh the poison of expecting more when you didn’t ask.

What does that even mean?
***?
What is that?
If we’re both drunk does it count?
Because I am the definition
awkward.
So a drink in me might
do her a favor.
But just for the first time.
So I’m comfortable enough
to draw my line,
Or the line of hickeys
I left on your neck.
Consent.
Because you’re awkward, too.
A lovely Shade of shyness.
But all I could do was look you
in the eyes
and say you’re beautiful.
Then a tear streamed down your face.
And all that came out was
Are you sure this is okay?
Consent.
Because I’m not comfortable,
the way you’re comfortable.
The way taking off my shirt
feels like letting the sea inside me.
So I’ll keep my pants on,
until the lights are off.
And even then,
my scars are screaming.
It’s ringing in my ear,
my biggest fear.
When she stops and whispers,
Are you sure this is okay?
The first time I’ve ever heard
those words.
Was the first time I felt free.
For the first time,
I didn’t feel *****.
When you whisper in my ear.
I thought, Baby!
I love it when you talk
consent to me.

there's secrets, hidden beneath the corduroy
a world of wonder
where admission varies
guest to guest,
it's a game of guess
at whether you're let in
or you're like the rest,
corduroy's the fashion though
for sure
they'll be others
that hold you high up
just to push you down under

Academic conversations about consent are a pure form of agony,
Listening to students and Professor toss around the word like it's a hypothetical commodity,
As if there is question that autonomy and dignity belong to every living thing in that room.
We are asked to dissect the most intimate of physical safeties as if this is a lesson in biology,
Solve 'consent' like a particularly challenging calculus problem,
Pretend as if this didn't happen in the confines of my body.
It's excruciating to have to take an equation,
We'll start with y=mx+b,
And calculate which variables determine basic human decency.
I was young, female, gay, autistic, bipolar,
Clinging to his professions of love like they could stitch the gaping emotional wounds,
And somehow that didn't make me human when he did the math.
I don't know how to argue, Professor, with which philosophical tools,
Professor, that I was a person, Professor,
When he decided to **** me.