An enormous gray area:
Alcohol and powder mixed together and at a distance
a sad soul mumbling
A raspy voice saying:
“Relax, nothing is going to happen”
There are not visible signs: I didn’t resist. I didn’t scream.
I didn’t fight.
Was it the way I smiled when he told me “you look pretty tonight”?
Maybe my smile meant consent.
Wasn’t my small resistance enough?
Maybe I wanted it. Maybe I wasn’t clear.
Perhaps it's my fault for letting his body crush mine
And perhaps it could also be all in my head, maybe nothing did happen, maybe just maybe I am making it up.
Liar. Slut. Drunk. Confused:
Maybe it was making love but a little rougher,
a bit hurtful.
I said yes and changed my mind,
why do I feel so wrong? (Alcohol said maybe)
why do I feel like showering like a hundred times? (My head said no)
why do I want to get out of my own skin? (I said wait)
oh why am I still your friend?
And what should I call it? We were both drunk.
Sam Priego is an English Literature student who lives in Mexico City, and who probably spends too much time rewatching Gilmore Girls.