Expectations are always set.
They’re everywhere and they’re controlling.
I’m expected to be pretty, expected to act pretty
“ladies should wear makeup,” they all say, making my gut twist with vexation.
Hearing my friends complain about their faces when they’re unpainted,
Always waiting for them to paint them- is distressing
I shouldn’t speak my mind, about how I feel, yet I should be happy
I should put makeup on too, and speaking about how much I dislike it, would break expectations
I live in fear of the expectations set for me, set to box me in, worried about what people may think.
I expect people to like me, and to be nice
I expect people to see when they’re being sexist, or racist, and when they’re being insensitive
“You don’t seem latina” “you eat so much for a girl!” “I just like hot pieces of ass”
And yet I am surprised by how often I see sexism and racism being supported.
I expect people to to see why Donald Trump is rude, and embarrassing
And I continually see his supporters, ignoring, and even agreeing with his hateful campaign
“Make America Great Again”- I would just like to say, you’re wrong.
What makes America great has nothing to do with illegal immigrants, and building a wall
I expect people to know that, and am continually disappointed
I expect humankind to be full of compassion and love, because we were gifted with the abilities
Yet there’s hate around every corner, as if people don’t want to love
It is harder to love, than to hate- but it’s so much more rewarding to love
Can’t people see that?
I don’t like parties, and new people often make me nervous, and I’m expected to like them
“Gabi, parties are fun!”
Not the kind of parties you like.
“Why do you look sad?”
Well, I’m not happy to be here
I expect people to understand, and help me, and be nice
Yet, they aren’t
They say it’s not cool to stay home instead of party, parties are how you make friends
But those aren’t the type of friends I need- I expect people to see that