Awful One

They said it directly to me.

“You are awful.”

There was no metaphor.

There was no softening.

The word stayed with me.

...

It replayed in my mind after the conversation ended.

It followed me into the next day.

It made me question my tone, my decisions, my intentions.

...

I asked myself what I did.

I spoke firmly.

I set a boundary.

I said no firmly.

...

The other people did not like it.

Instead of arguing with my reasons, they attacked my character.

They did not say I was wrong.

They said I was awful.

...

The difference matters.

When you call someone awful, you are not criticizing behavior.

You are condemning the person.

You are reducing them to a single negative word.

...

I am not perfect.

I have made mistakes.

I have said things I regret.

But I am not awful.

...

I am a person who gets tired.

I am a person who defends herself.

I am a person who does not always choose the softest response.

...

Being direct does not make me cruel.

Setting limits does not make me heartless.

Refusing to accept disrespect does not make me terrible.

...

This poem is about labels.

It is about how quickly people use extreme language

when they are disappointed or challenged.

“Awful one” is easier to say

than “I did not get what I wanted.”

...

The word hurt.

That is true.

But it did not define me.

I reject it.

...

I am responsible for my actions.

I am not responsible for someone else’s exaggeration.

This poem is about reclaiming my name

from a word that never fit.