respect.

everyday, i think about you.

i make you the foods you like. i clean up to keep the calm. i iron the wrinkles. i pick up the mess. i leave you sleep extra while i get up early. everything with the young is done by me. i plan all of the events. i coordinate all of the holidays to ease your stress. i make the bed. i kiss you when you walk through the door.

i respect your schedule.

i respect your sleep.

i respect the daily insanity that you live with.

i try to keep peace, and calm, and positivity all around you in your home.

everyday, i think about you.

everyday, i respect you.

 

everyday, i ask you to respect me.

to try to be consistent with your moods and with how you treat me.

i ask you to communicate to me the simplest of things–mostly when you’re running late, because it impacts me greatly.

i ask you to understand that my days are long. that there is no break. that i don’t get a moment to think for myself. that i’m tired sometimes. that i work hard. that i don’t get much to look forward too–including a weekend. and, mostly, that i need you to not yell at me when i tell you all of those things. i beg you to just listen. to support me. to respect me, and all that i do, and all that i try to do.

 

everyday, you disrespect me.

you yell at me about the things i can’t get done. or the things i forgot to do. you yell at me if i’m not happy. you yell at me if you’re not happy. you yell at me if i tell you why i’m not happy. you yell at me if i cry. you yell at me if i hold it all in. you yell at me about the things i’m trying to get better at. you yell at me about what i do. you yell at me if i ask you to respect me. you yell at me for wanting you to communicate more. you yell at me for things that happened ten years ago. you yell at me about your own inconsistencies. you yell at me for asking you to be more consistent because i need it, so badly, because i can’t keep up. you yell at me because it’s not my place to ask you to be consistent–because, it’s your life.

you tell me how you don’t get a weekend too.

you tell me how miserable you are because i haven’t always been happy and perky in the last two weeks.

you tell me how you have no life.

you yell at me for not realizing that you’re miserable.

 

for me, it’s all about you.

for you, it’s all about you.

 

one day, i will either look back at these writings and wonder why i stayed as long as i did. or, i’ll be embarrassed, in our future happiness, that it ever got this bad back in the day. today though, i just wanted you to call me to tell me you weren’t leaving early–but, were in fact, running two hours late…and, i just wanted a shower that lasted more than five minutes. neither of those things happened. instead, you yelled at me because i didn’t greet you happily, and because i trusted you when you said you would try to be home early.

you made sure i knew it was my fault that i believed you, and then you asked me to stop believing in you, in general.

tonight, a husband, faulted his wife for believing in him and asked her to stop doing it, because it makes him mad…

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