I asked for it.
When he told me,
In my drunken haze,
What he wanted from me,
In hushed tones
I leaned in and whispered,
Anxiety in every slur,
“I never have…
He asked me
If that was a yes or a no.

I waited until we were alone
To tell him,
Louder this time,
“Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”
But he had full intentions
Of giving me what I was asking for.
I repeated even more loudly,
“I don’t think we should do this.”
He kissed me harder,
Pulled more fervently at my clothes,
As if I was telling him
To hurry up and give it to me.
Because asking for it
Never meant that I asked.
It’s always only meant
That I deserved it.