It’s not the fact that you impose your suppositions of my own sexuality on me.
It’s the fact that you think that people who own this sexuality are wrong.
That they deserve your imposing of stigmatizing and your assumptions of things that you have no knowledge of.
I must be mistaken—I didn’t realize that because my friend reads something that’s pink and has a pretty cover; that he asked for your insults.
He must’ve inquired for your callous laughter.
He must’ve inquired your homophobic comments as if it was a joke.
It was just a joke.
You act as if your words cannot sting. They cannot break. They cannot shatter hearts and people.
You act as if your words cannot evoke tears and pain out of people who don’t deserve it; in the middle of the night.
You act as if your words are meaningless, harmless—they couldn’t possibly affect or oppress a group of people because they are your words.
And you can do no wrong.
Your words are like cobbles out of a slingshot towards the forehead of a giant; knocking them down.
Your words are not the be all and end all of everything. True.
But they mean a world to the people you impose them on.
The people you insult by your negative connotations on something important that makes people happy.
Excuse me but—
You forget that your words are the pieces to this vile puzzle.
They shove one on a dark path.
The shove one towards the knife.
Excuse me but—
You seen to have forgotten that you are the gun.
Your cruel mouth is the barrel and
your words are the bullets.
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