Consent is not a blurred line.
It is a fault line carved into the earth, buried so deep
even the soil needs stitches. It’s not that difficult to realize
that when someone says no, you don’t cross over to the other side anyway
and get the earthquake started before they’re ready.
There are three women in my family who were born with birthmarks
on their inner thighs in the shape of a man’s palm
so they could save themselves the trouble of the inevitable.
Robin Thicke, maybe you are “going blind.” Maybe you are “going deaf.”
But you most certainly are“out of your mind.”
Because a man who sings about taming women like they’re house pets
or lab rats can’t possibly have all his brain cells intact.
Want me to take a look at them for you? Analyze them under the microscope
so I can decipher how many different shades of “misogynist” turn up in your DNA?
Oh come on, don’t deny me the pleasure of science.
I know you want it.
I’ve heard your wife is a great cook. Maybe that’s because
she learned from you how to dip your hands in flour
before putting them all over something that doesn’t ask for it.
Maybe that’s because the other gender is just a piece of meat
that you’d rather marinate than take the time to check
the temperature of beforehand. When the girl in your video isn’t feelin’ it,
when she’s too cold, you assume she’s hot anyway.
Just a tip- try using a thermometer next time before you take off her underwear.
And maybe you’re not a soldier, Robin, but you still own a purple heart
because you’re so cowardly even God wanted to give you an award
for being able to spot your lily-livered face from 50,000 miles up in the sky.
Your heart is so purple and bruised that it can’t even tell the difference
between right and wrong through all the blood clotting its judgment.
I know three women who were “good girls.”
How ironic that so much bad could happen to them.
How ironic that a song you wrote tries to turn itself inside out
to proclaim it’s “actually a feminist movement”
when so many women try to turn themselves inside out every day
trying to get rid of the scar tissue that was burned into
the building between their legs that is apparently not fireproof but should be.
Robin Thicke, consent is not a blurred line.
Consent is a goddamn fault line carved into the earth, buried so deep
even the soil needs stitches. But time does not heal all wounds,
because some, like rape, refuse to let the antiseptic soak in.
The world would be a better place if your songs started trying
to be the bandage instead of making the first cut.