Seems like you can’t function without it.
Have your coffee dark roast—
Grounds swirling in the bottom,
--Swirling like those hateful thoughts,
Like those hateful words.
Which will be spit,
From your bitter tongue.
Probably at me.
Mocking my glasses
--As if I don’t get that enough
Well, these glasses,
Yeah, they’re magic.
Shield me from hateful looks,
Coming from my left and right sides,
Which I can’t see,
Because they really just block my line of sight.
But just in those spots.
The rest is all too clear.
Yeah, these magic glasses,
Shield others from the wall of tears I hide behind,
From the awkward
Flinch I get when your ignorance is blinding.
Ignorance which bombards my ears simultaneously.
A symphony of hatred,
Blaring in one accord,
Deafening anyone nearby that isn’t also a part of your
So spit at me.
And Color me blind.
Sing me deaf.
Label me crazy.
Do what you will.
But know that each:
You think is adding to my tumult,
Is only giving me fuel.
Fuel to fight the impending duel
Which I know waits for me
You’re not that imposing,
Sure your grandeur is enclosing
But on a grander scale,
You’re merely a pawn.
In Life’s fucked up game of checkers mixed with Twister
That not even Life knows the rules to.
So, spit way.
‘Cause for all I know,
This is how you play.