Maybe I am overreacting,
Or is it the other way around,
Maybe I am accustomed to the ways of pain,
That a new one inflicted is no change,
Maybe people do not know,
That they are hurting me,
Maybe I always get taken for granted,
Another object in the room,
Importantly useful when purpose arises,
Later it becomes conveniently invisible,
One might curiously ask,
What object do I imagine myself as,
A doormat is what I am,
Allowing people to walk over,
Help getting rid of dirt on them,
And lie there for more of it to come,
Maybe I am overreacting,
Or is this the reality of life?