What is rape?

I imagine myself as some sort of monster
covered in the digested remnants of cupcakes and sympathy jizz
I see these
clothes
faces
bodies
bonds
that I want so badly
I want that to be me
but/no
none of that ethereal waifish beauty for me
none of that love shit for me
bloody noses bloody apendages bloody bloody
fucking bloody
not alternative enough for the alternatives
not in the right ways
but I don’t want to be right for them
them them what is this them of which we speak so disdainfully
a conglomerate of all we hate and cannot accurately name
it’s them’s fault
stop playing the victim
I’m the one who keeps eating
I’m the one who forgets to reapply sunscreen
I’m the one who got drunk
I’m the one who flirted with you (while drunk)
I’m the one who blacked out (screw the fact that you were supposed to be my friend.  What kind of friend screws a girl who has no idea what she’s doing? What kind of friend violates a woman, no matter how drunk, in a club bathroom?  What kind of friend am I to you for not telling you I was involved with someone before hitting on you when I was so drunk I had no idea where I was or who you were?)
I’m the one at fault
It’s not date rape cuz we weren’t on a date
It’s not rape because I hit on you first (Screw the fact that even the fucking lawyers realize a woman CANNOT FUCKING GIVE CONSENT WHEN SHE’S SHITFACED!  FUCK YOU!)
I ruined everything
Because friends don’t cause drama
Because you were drunk too
Because rape is too strong a word
Because I had to pay the doctor to sew me back up down there because you didn’t care that you were hurting me
Because I’ll never tell you that
Because you’d hate yourself forever
Because you don’t deserve that
I shouldn’t have been drinking
I shouldn’t have taken those beers they handed me
I shouldn’t have blacked out (even though it’s my body’s reaction to the toxins in alcohol and I had no control over it)
I shouldn’t have
I shouldn’t have
I shouldn’t have
It’s all my fault (and no one will ever see it any differently)
I remember a beer and a bonfire and and an artist from Burning Man
And then oblivion
All I remember is you pulling on my hair then black
then you’re helping me buckle my belt back up because I was too drunk (should that have been a clue?)
Then nothing
Then I’m being led outside and I get the vague idea I should be humiliated
Then a waking death/nothing
Then I’m talking to HIM
And it’s all over
Everything I hoped for wished for dreamed for held on for
During two years of captivity
Gone
Thank you.
Because now I know why women don’t talk about these things
Because now I know how it feels to know that if I say even a tiny fraction of what I’m feeling/thinking/knowing I’ll be ostracized/alone/despised even more than HE already does
Because I’m scared
Because I don’t want to hurt you
Because I feel disgusting
Like everyone knows I’m a whore/slut/easy/unfaithful/gullible/weak
Because I think I am
Because I lost the right to be happy/safe/loved/made to feel beautiful
Because I don’t have motivation anymore
I don’t deserve success
I lost the right to dream
I am not a victim
It’s my fault.