I’ve always had a way with words.
They said I should be a lawyer because
I knew how to convince them of whatever I wanted them to believe.
I know when to sugar coat the facts, and
when to give the cold hard truth.
My problem is knowing when to keep my mouth shut.
My mother always told me,
“If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.”
But since when do I listen to my mother?
My wit is quick, and bites the pride of others when I strike.
My words are sharp, they cut like glass, only after they leave my mouth.
I wish my tongue was forged of broken glass.
Maybe then I’d know how my words can hurt,
and they’d hurt me instead,
before they ever left to scratch someone else.