"Consensual sex" is just sex. To say that implies that there is such a thing as "non consensual sex", which there isn’t. That’s rape. That is what it needs to be called. There is only sex or rape. Do not teach people that rape is just another type of sex. They are two very separate events. You wouldn’t say "breathing swimming" and "non breathing swimming", you say swimming and drowning.

reblogging for that metaphor I like that metaphor.


The thing is, I’m not sorry.

I’m glad that my love had teeth. I’m glad that it wore claws and a snarl and didn’t let you walk all over it. That when you left me, the left side of your body was stained purple with it all. It won’t go away, you’ll think that it has when the marks fade. But the thing about teeth is that they go clean through bone. The thing about ribs is that they hold onto the way it felt. Like being eaten alive, like taking your clothes off and then taking your skin off straight after. That’s where I saw you best, that’s where my love held you. At the throat, at the heart. Came away bloody chinned and marked. Came away triumphant. Like a woman who’d been at war and won. The opposition saw her coming, trembled, and placed their weapons at her feet. Didn’t know where to look when she spread her vulnerable out before them and said “I am not ashamed. Here I am.”

When you undress, you’ll think of me there. Fierce and trembling. Naked and proud. You’ll think of how I held you, with more than my arms. Twenty years from now, you’ll be standing in your kitchen, the sun will hit your back and your ribs will ache. Suddenly you’ll forget how to use your hands and drop whatever you’re holding and realise, even then, that it was still there. Even then that I’d been there all along.

Azra.T “Everything I’ve ever let go of has claw marks on it - DFW”  (via 5000letters)