Deep within my buried thoughts, I believe that you are small.
Tiny, miniscule – you hardly register on my radar.
Yet, somehow, you dominate my world.
Everywhere I turn, I run smack-dab into you
Like a crash-test dummy into a brick wall.
Smash – there go the pieces.

You tear me down every chance you get because, for you,
it makes me small –
manageable, controllable – like a kid carousing with his toy car.
But I bust your mental monkey-grip and your punitive put-me-downs
By squishing you with my mind.

I make you mini and insignificant.
Muted, demure, yet maleficent –
Like a really, really angry mouse.
Or, a tenacious tea towel.

Yeah, I know it doesn’t really make a lot of sense
because of how you make me do things
that I would never do,
as if I were another person,
with a different set of choices,
a different set of voices –
as if, my own feelings and opinions
were unholy and untrue.

But I will not forsake myself because
you cannot slake your thirst for power.
Ayaan Hirsi Ali would reminisce,
“Tolerance of intolerance is cowardice.”

So, I squish you with my mind.
And I perceive you to be less than you really are.
If I see you’ve got a Napoleonic Complex,
Then I will be your Waterloo.