I do mind, actually,
I mind that you seem to think the details of my life
are yours to go rifling through like a chest of drawers,
I mind when you come barging into my inner life
without even bothering to knock,
I mind when you do the very things
I’ve asked you not to, never learning,
I mind when you make it clear that you prefer
the older version of me, instead of the one
who sits in front of you now,
I mind when you take my experiences
and make them about you,
claiming to know what it was like for me,
I mind when we have the same circular discussions
over and over again, while in the corner sits
a mountain of discarded advice,
I mind when I show you my sadness and you tell me
I have no right to feel it because yours is worse,
I mind when you ask insensitive questions about
the defining traumas of my life and then
demand that I tiptoe around yours,
I do mind, actually.
