No.

Some times I still Feel it.
The memory of your touch, like venom,
Soaking me to my core.

It may have seemed small,
Or like nothing at all,
But to me it was a giant,
Looming over me,
Casting a shadow I can't escape.

Why was it when I said no,
You still chose to push and pressure.
Over and over and over again,
The same question ringing in my ears,
Until I finally said yes.

Now there is a word I regret.
The amount of times I said yes,
Even when I didn't want to.

I remember you saying,
"Sometimes is such a fight to get you to..."
I won't finish the thought.
Did it ever occur to you,
That that might be wrong?

Did you ever stop to think
About how terrible that sounded,
Outloud?
And you still said it,
more than once.

Usually if it's a fight,
Isn't it considered assault?
Has that thought,
Ever crossed your mind?

No, I'm sure it hasn't.
Other wise I'm sure you'd feel bad.
You'd feel remorse, right?

When I told you it had a name,
And that it was abuse,
You disagreed.
Said you didn't see it that way.
As if what had happened
could be anything other than normal.

As if I spoke lies just to spite you,
You played the victim,
Hurt by my words,
Guilting me to feel bad,
For saying anything.

That day I realized
Something I need to learn is:
You were my abuser

And

Something you need to learn is:
NO. MEANS. NO.