Elizebeth Turnquist

I’m supposed to be gracious

Understanding and forgiving

Of my oppressors

Because they are human

Because they don’t know better

And me questioning their actions

Doesn’t fit their narrative

I’m supposed to be nice

And play the game silently

While they demean me

While they ignore my needs

Because speaking up is rude

Being loud is unseemly

And when they pile my plate full

I’m supposed to smile at the shit

The steaming pile they give to me

And act like I’m eager to eat it.