why would i be okay?

they say
i take things too seriously.
and then they’re scared to talk to me.
they say i feel too much—
have too many expectations,
too many standards.

but tell me—

why would i be okay with you
pointing out my pimples
while we lay in bed—
and calling it just a fact?

why would i want to be called a slut
just because i spoke to someone else?

why would i want to be called too loud
for pointing out someone was being racist to me?

why would i accept being called a cheater
for choosing myself
over a boy
who never planned to choose me back?

why would i think it’s normal
to call someone fat to their face
and call it reality?

why would i be okay
with you saying it’s easier
to forget i ever existed
than have a hard conversation with me?

why would i be okay
with you mocking where i come from—
a “poor shit hole of a village”
just because my school wasn’t in your map of privilege?

why would i be okay
with you laughing at the fact
that maybe—just maybe—i might like girls?

why would i be okay
with you telling me i’ll never make it in art
because i’m not talented enough
or strong enough
and no one’s going to give me a chance anyway?

why would i be okay
with you saying you’re using my love for art
because i’m not using it for myself?

why would i be okay
with you wanting to borrow my curiosity
just so your vacation doesn’t bore you?

why would i be okay
with being uninvited from your wedding
because i didn’t go to an Ivy League?

why would i be okay
with you calling me ugly
because i have a hunchback?

why would i be okay
with you saying you’re fine
not knowing me
until the day i die?

why would i be okay
with you admitting
you dropped me like a hot potato
and walked away
as if i wasn’t burning?

why would i be okay
with you saying i drive like a killer?

why would i be okay
when i saw you across the art gallery,
and all i saw in your eyes
was revenge—
like you were telling me
“look, i found someone instead of you”?

why would i be okay
with you making it a game
to call out people’s weaknesses
because your friends think it’s funny?

why would i be okay
with you calling me only when you’re bored—
and expecting me to kneel at your feet,
like you’re doing me a favour?

why would i be okay
with being convenient?
with being disposable?

just because
when i’m with you,
i treat myself that way, too?