No, I'm not (okay. You make me feel inferior,
like I must not know what I'm talking about
because I'm younger, or because
I'm a woman. You talk down to me.
All the time. You say I'm your best friend,
your soul mate, your one and only,
but I can't even be honest with you anymore.
My problems are real, and so are my feelings.
I don't need your permission
to be angry, to be grouchy, to be a
"Debby Downer," as you call me way too often.
That phrase used to make me laugh.
Now, whenever I hear it, I want to hit the nearest object
and pretend it's your face. I am my own person.
You can't tell me how to feel. Don't you ever
tell me again not to be) upset anymore.