Dispel the obvious notions you have about what defines disrespect. Ignore what you’ve heard from others, have seen on television or felt at one time or recently. There word disrespect has a newer description.
Try to imagine the place where you lie your head; that place you hurry home to after an arduous day in class or in the office, is nothing more than the cause of all the infamy in your life. From the adults to the children, each injurious, their responses storming your frame of logic and self confidence. Them. All of them. Your stomach turns at the sheer thought of them in your presence. Your heart is heavy, submerged at the idea of driving home to greet them. To them. Them. Fight or Flight is both the same at this point. Escape. It’s all Escape. Now, here is the disrespect. Your voice or concerns mean nothing. What you question or offer as a topic of discussion is rudely pushed aside.
“Stupid motherfucker” is your new sobriquet.
“That’s your issue, not mine.” is the etch above your bedroom.
“Stop fuckin’ complaining.” is their chant when you walk quietly out the door.
You give them so much, and they return to your feet baubles upon baubles of disrespect.
Still, their existence, their sustainability, would be very little without your offerings. You reward them because they live with you, inside you. But, time has eroded that course. You don’t care whether they leave–and leave for good–or stay. You could take all you’ve given, and instead of a discussion of why or what, obscenities are surely to fill the air around you. They are too entitled now. Disrespectful and entitled. Their smiles are sinister.
Their smiles are shots in the dark.
Hurled dagger through the fog.
A line of slow-acting poison at the rim of your mug.
You are the Door mat.