It’s not about you. A poem that doesn’t rhyme.

It’s not about you, I whisper, clenching my toes in the ends of my shoes.
Another person with an opinion I don’t agree with, and this one brought God into it.
You’re threatening us, the way that we live and all we believe, they cry.
I’m not trying to, or I don’t think I am. . . I just want the option to do what I want.

It’s not about you, I mutter, resisting the square of opinions clenched in my fist.
It tells me to share, to say all that I think and to shout down the ones who don’t agree.
The truth is I don’t want men overthrown, or even knocked down.
I want women raised up to be equal, until we don’t walk a parking lot with claws made of keys

It’s not about you, I growl, as a bitchy white boy tells me why stereotypes of him are wrong.
He found an article about how men need to change their behavior
so he made a 20-minute video on why he was the exception and you needed to know it.
It wasn’t aimed at an individual man, and certainly not you, so move on.

It’s not about you, I whimper, as tears slip down my cheeks to the screen in my hand.
Millennials can’t, and here’s more reasons why! Why bother with facts?
When with ease we can draw up a list of cliches and over-used tropes, and call them entitled.
I have to remember that I’m not a target, just one in a million who all want to try.

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