Get over it – A Slam Poem 

Ten responses to the phrase “Get over it” 


“Get over it”
Three words.
It’s almost as if by saying it you think you have the right to tell me what to think and how to feel. 
You can’t.
You don’t. 


Correct me if I’m wrong (I’m not) but when it comes to my story you don’t get to decide you haven’t hurt me
You don’t get to decide that you aren’t a villain
because you would rather be a hero
When I say “What you said hurt me” I am not taking a scalpel to your character and gleefully dissecting it to show you all of your flaws
I am simply saying “You mean something to me that’s WHY it hurts” 


No one is as well acquainted with my shadows as I am
and I willingly own my tendency to ignore red flags like that’s some kind of super power
but I am not quite so starved that I will chew on anything
including lies.
I am telling you a truth in that moment and it’s mine.


Don’t dismiss me.


I identify with the anti-narcissus
I am more than willing to break my mirror in order to painstakingly examine the pieces 
I am the sort of person that will lie awake in bed at 3am
agonising over things I said eight years ago realising I still regret them.


I have never shown great talent for faking it
I have never mastered lacking in empathy
So when someone I love says to me “You hurt me” I feel it I really do.
You don’t.
You should.


I have never needed anyone to love me or my madness
I have only ever asked them to try and love me in spite of it.
I still cling to the hope that someone, somewhere, is going to see me
really see me
I don’t believe it’s an unreasonable request
to ask to be heard and seen
So if you say “Get over it”
in that moment I notice
that I appreciate what it took for you to be honest
It’s the absence of kindness that hurts.


I don’t expect anyone to carefully pick through their words to avoid hurting me
but for some reason I am expected
to carefully pick through my emotions so I don’t show the ones that make you feel uncomfortable
otherwise I’m “too emotional”
That’s bullshit.



And by the way fuck you. 


I am not going to apologise for loving you so fiercely that I allow your words to matter when I know they shouldn’t.
I am not going to apologise
for what I am feeling even if that makes you feel uneasy.
I have spent far too long trying to figure out all of the ways that will enable me not to feel everything as deeply as I do.
None of them worked.

My tongue might hesitate to defend this haphazard mess I like to call my thoughts
but one thing is for sure
When you say “Get over it” I can’t help but feel defeated.

Something unseen breaks within me
So don’t tell me
how to feel
So don’t tell me
what I am feeling and why
So don’t tell me what I can or cannot fight for
because all I want in this moment is for you to say anything else but the phrase “Get over it”
You can’t.
You don’t.
You should.

Behind the poem: 

One of my exes had a habit of saying this and it’s now always down in my contract as a sub that this phrase is a hard limit for me. It’s definitely not to be used as a punishment or I will flip the fuck out. 

I get that it’s a go to response when people are frustrated. I really do understand that. I don’t hold it against people, but I still can’t help the way it makes me feel. 

This poem was a response to that phrase  and it’s also full of the different ways I’ve processed it internally over the years. It was a go to response from my mother who is the actual inspiration for the poem. I’ve definitely had an ex or three say it to me though over the years. The different verses explore the times I felt misunderstood, overlooked, or never truly heard or seen. They’re things I thought or wished I had said, things I felt or wished I didn’t feel in that moment. 

I love to play with imagery, sandwich things together and I chuck it in wherever. I don’t do well with structure. I tell stories and that’s all I do. I’m lucky to have experienced some awesome (and not so awesome) ones firsthand. I write about them because then they’re out of my head and not rattling around in there for me to obsess over. 

I am more sensitive than I care to admit I just don’t like to broadcast it. I’m aware of my shadows and I do know them well. If you don’t know yours as intimately as you would know a lover then maybe you should.  I see mine and I understand them but that doesn’t mean they don’t affect me every now and then. 

Edit: The interesting thing about this poem is that one verse stands out over the others for each person that reads it but they all relate to the poem for very similar reasons. I found that fascinating. 


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