Consent and blame go hand in hand when a woman tries to release herself from a mans
Grip or grind, not a step behind. The music controls you, or is it the drinks?
I can’t remember. My visions blurry while the strobe lights reflect off my transparent glasses. My friend has blended into the dance floor, or has she fallen? No, she’s up and walking, making her way to a room
She’s unfamiliar with his gesture to smell her perfume with his mouth. She smiles.
Her innocence emanating through the gaps in her teeth and he’s mistaking it for opportunity.
She wore white today, how ironic?
I’m wearing black. What better way to hide my purity than by covering it behind the colors of …
The strobe lights glare in my glasses, but I keep my eyes ahead.
He’s found his way to my back pockets, but his hands are wrapped around my waists.
The party will be fun. The party will have our peers from the campus.
Funny how their true colors are louder than the strobe lights.
And the music.
And our voices.
Or are they just more important
poem by Jayden Cabral
–Vatic Kuumba, Live Arts Coordinator