You're Why I Always Consider Carrying A Gun

You make stupid comments
like you're entitled to spit that shit
out of your conceited mouth.
You hold yourself in the society of men
and deny that it's where you've made your bed,
but I've watched you for all these years.
You think I'm not justified to not like you,
to hate you, but if you were me
you'd hate you too.
When I say no, what makes you think
that I actually want to say yes,
but need some convincing?
What makes you think that my no meant yes?
Can you even hear me? I say stop and it takes
fifty thousand repeats before
you even consider doing so.
And you think it's okay to hit me
when you're pissed at me,
when your rage turns your face red.
You barge into my room like you're entitled to do so
even when you knock but don't yet get an answer.
And you deny that it puts you
in the set of rape culture,
yet you don't listen to the explanation.
Pull your head out of your ass
and take the shit out of your ears
because I, a young woman, am speaking.
It's weird, isn't it, that you constantly talk
about me and my cheeks in an "endearing" way
and that you keep pinching my arm?
But you say no, that the pinching doesn't bother mom
and therefore it shouldn't bother me
as if her reactions should always be mine,
as if she's never too distracted to really care.
And you're always getting in my space
and when I push you back
you ask what my problem is. It's you.
At times you pretend to kill me
or hurt me with elaborate or simple scenarios.
You insult me, curse at me,
and then expect me to treat you
with respect and kindness afterwards
and say I'm making a big deal out of nothing
when I give you my reason for wanting to punch you.
Do you understand now why I don't trust
your sudden niceness?
Do you understand now why I don't trust you?
Do you understand now?