Most poems about consent would be tempted to explain, to describe, to build a scene. Lxnona's «no» does almost the opposite. It strips everything away until only a voice is left, a speaker who has already said what needed saying and has not been heard. The poem's real subject is not touch itself but the failure of listening. Its central idea is that a refusal means nothing if the person on the other side has decided not to care.
The title is the first thing worth stopping at. The word "no" sits in guillemets, like a quotation, as if it were being held up for inspection. Inside the poem, the speaker never actually says it. What the speaker says is far softer: "i say i'm not comfortable." That is polite, hedged, almost apologetic language. The only time "no" appears in the body of the text is in "no asking", where it describes what the other person did not do. So the refusal lives outside the poem, in the title, while inside the poem the word turns up only as an absence. The speaker did speak up, which means the failure is not one of communication. It is a failure to respect what was communicated.
The poem is built from short, flat, unpunctuated lines in lowercase free verse, with no rhyme to soften anything. Without capitals or full stops, the lines tumble forward with no place to rest, which suits a mind going over the same thoughts again and again. Several of the lines are questions, but none has a question mark: "why did i think he would care", "where's my choice in this", "why treat me like one". They read less like real questions than like accusations that already know no answer is coming. The clipped triplet "all the same / no asking / just doing" is the poem at its coldest. "Just" shrinks the act into something casual, while "all the same" can be read two ways: that it happens the same way every time, and that the other person is indifferent to the difference between yes and no.
Notice, too, how the pronouns move. At first the speaker talks about "he", as if describing him to a third party. Then the poem turns and speaks directly to him: "why am i the one you go to when / you're horny". The line break after "when" leaves the question hanging, and the blunt word that finishes it lands without any cushioning. By the end the audience has changed again, to "they", a vaguer crowd of people who might hear. The speaker seems to have given up on the one person who should have listened and is now addressing anyone at all.
The key image is the single metaphor in the poem: "i'm not a tool". It is a plain, unpoetic word, and that is exactly why it works. A tool is picked up when needed and put down afterwards, and nobody asks it how it feels. The speaker's follow-up, "why treat me like one", is almost childlike in its simplicity, which makes it harder to dismiss.
The final lines are the most unsettling. "I want to rid of my body" is missing a word, probably "be", and the stumble in the grammar may be accidental. Either way, it reads like a sentence that can hardly be finished. The body, which should belong to the speaker, has become the place where the harm happens, so the wish is to leave it. Then comes the bitter logic of "maybe then / they'll listen". The speaker imagines that only by disappearing could they finally be heard, which exposes the irony underneath: if the speaker vanished, there would be no one left to listen to. The wish says less about what the speaker wants than about how powerless they feel.
That is what makes the poem significant. It does not dress up its subject or explain it for comfort. It gives us a refusal, a pattern of being ignored, and the hurt that follows, in language anyone can follow. In a way, the poem itself becomes the thing the speaker is searching for. Written down and handed to a reader, it is a place where "no" is finally taken seriously, and the reader becomes the "they" who is asked to listen.