Context: I wrote this poem after reading about yet another rape case where the victim took a fusillade of criticism for not being a good enough ‘nice girl’ archetype. I actually saw this comment on a message board:

Yes, in the twenty-first century, we still single out rape as a ‘non-crime’ where it’s only wrong if you were wearing muted colors and never swore, hung out with shady people, or had consensual sex. This is my comment on the ‘you asked for it’ culture in poetic form.

It’s not rape, they said, because your heart was beating.
You asked for it a hundred times
with the crude dance of that muscle
One-twenty over eighty, all alive
It’s not rape, they said, because your lungs were working
caressing the air, in and out
It’s not rape they said
because your eyes are neon blue
and just a minute ago
and in the grey fields of neurons
dopamine and adrenaline were dancing
whirling around the mind-grid in reckless exuberance
heating up the wires
they cut off the line and left thought and reason hanging
It’s not rape because you were watching the lights
Sweep, whirl, ricochet, and divide
Into seven, red, blue and their sisters
It’s not rape because you said yes
When the strobelights hit your retinas
It’s not rape because you kissed back
When the pounding bass made its way to your ears
It’s not rape because you wear your skin
where a wire matrix would do
because you spread your wings, when feet would be enough
Because you bleed when cut. The red is ours.