Who are you, with your stones so bright,
Tossed from your glass in the middle of night?
I watch, I wonder, I barely speak,
Yet your loud judgment feels so weak.
You mock the brick, the stone, the frame,
But your own walls wobble, all the same.
I’m new, I write, I try to see,
The cracks in your vanity, clear to me.
You point, you jeer, you love the show,
Blind to the shards that fall below.
Stone houses falter, that I know,
Yet glass, my friend, can cut just so.
Who are you, so certain, so loud,
When your reflection hides behind a cloud?
I’ll scribble my truth, small but true,
While you toss stones from your skewed view.
this piece is s a reflection on criticism and hypocrisy—the way people can be quick to judge while ignoring the fragility in their own lives. It’s about resisting the noise, keeping perspective, and choosing to write from honesty instead of arrogance.
