What would you call it?

Maybe it’s Because I didn’t scream.    
Maybe it’s  because I didn’t yell out “NO” or “DONT” or “STOP”      
Maybe it’s because I didn’t forcefully push him off of me    
Maybe it’s because I didn’t fight him hard enough    
Maybe that’s why he decided I must’ve wanted it    
Or maybe It didn’t matter whether I wanted it or not    
 because he believed he was entitled to it.    
But whatever you do,      
don’t you dare call him a rapist    
     
Maybe it’s because I had consented in the past.    
Maybe it’s because he called himself my boyfriend.    
Maybe because there  were other times when the passion, the desire, and the want was mutual.      
Maybe it’s because I had a duty as his girlfriend, his chosen one, or his “favorite”      
As he  so endearingly referred to me.      
Or maybe it’s because once he consecrates you as his own, it’s a fate you can’t escape      
and well within his right to have his way with you.    
But like I said, don’t call him a rapist.    
     
Maybe it’s because he would throw a fit when he didn’t get his way.    
Sometimes tears flowed down his face, his voice braking as he asked “baby why don’t you love me?”      
Sometimes anger would flash in his eyes.    
“What do you mean, no?!”      
Sometimes a jealous monster would emerge.    
“Must be fucking someone else”, “Prove to me you’re not a whore”      
Or maybe he just knew how to pull on my emotional heart strings to get me to bend to his every whim.      
But don’t call him a rapist.    
     
But I did say no.    
And I did say I didn’t want to    
And I did try to push you off me.    
And I did tell you I didn’t want it like this.    
And with every no, with every resistance, with every boundary,      
you only pushed harder.    
     
You ignored my voice,      
you minimize my feelings,      
you disregarded my wants.    
and you pushed harder and persistently until I just stopped fighting it.    
     
And when I tried to avoid having my boundaries pushed,  broken and violated    
you turned even nastier.    
Calling me names,      
accusing me of sleeping around,      
and claiming I was playing games.    
Or maybe that’s just what you have to believe    
 so you don’t have to see yourself as a rapist.    
     
So what would you call it?      
Is it not rape because you love me?    
Is it not rape because you didn’t tie me up, hold me down, and force yourself inside me?    
     
It’s not intimacy    
It’s a hell of a lot more convoluted than sex    
And it is unquestionably not love    
So tell me, love, what would you call it?