today I was wondering what gives you the right to comment on someone else's life

the way you do

with such ease,

and such venom,

and as if you have never felt the ridiculously hindering sting of humanity

for yourself.

and I guess I realized that you're nursing your own wounds
and I guess I realized that's what makes you want to point out someone else's
because bandages can be humiliating
and scars won't go away but you can diminish them with dog-toothed words
that bite
that judge and spotlight someone else's faults.

and I've always loved the spotlight so who cares,
right?

well anyways,

it's harder to wish for you to be okay
but I'd rather do that
than feel blackened by the soot
of two-cent words
that go bump in the night.
I don't need a conscience
to dig into me with a blade
or you,
for that matter,
to dig into me with
letters grasping for footing
in vain.


because I have my own scars
that don't deserve to be mocked
because they hurt just as badly
as you are hurting.