Think Before You Speak


You spit splatters of wavering whines
Your words ringing through my spine 
Judgement reflects from your eyes 
And I look at you 
Your brows bent, 
bowing in frustration 
As you preach intimidation
Your narrow minded accusations 
Only dropping yourself lower
You steadily scan the scene
For a target that seems to scream
Too much this, or too little that
And you never stop to wonder 
You pluck them,
Your finicky fingers shaking
As you drop them into defined boxes
A department store,
Each item you've picked and worn
Dropped to the floor
And you kick them into 
piles of unwanted, dirty laundry.
You pick and you choose
Him? He's a fucking fruit
He's got no swag, he sags, he's such a douchebag
I'd take a dagger to that fag
Oh wait, her?
She's a slut
She fucks more nuts than she sucks 
And I heard she cuts 
Her wrists, it's gross as fuck 
Hah, those quirps?
They think they work 
The hardest, fastest
The longest
And that they're the smartest
But they're all retarded
I don't give a shit.
You smirk and nod
But you know it's wrong
The faulty approval of your peers 
Is mirrored
In your ears as they do the same
An endless repetition
infinite vindictions 
Passing comments as casually as a sickeningly sweet perfume salesperson;
Obnoxiously unnecessary.
Quit your judging, your whining
Your endless criticizing 
You mark each target,
Plan to mar it
You get yourself wound,
Line them up then shoot them down
Your frown 
Flipped upside down
As if when it's done, 
You'll have the crown.
Stop being so judgemental.
Sorry, what? I don't understand?
You think I haven't been called 
By those who won't give a damn?
Behind my back, it hurts the same
I know it's not the worst
I've had some luck thrown down my gut but it still hurts
I've had strangers
And their whispers
Twisting splinters through my skin
I've been the lonely one, the friendless one, 
The shy, stuck up, "thinks she's better than everyone"
I've seen mouths move
Then when I look, frozen
I've heard whispers woven
Felt stares and glares thrown
Sure, not up front and in my face 
Not the worst crap one could taste
But the 
Mis-labeled conjunctions
You drape around you
They may not be seen or heard by those you target 
Maybe genuine accusations, or joking interpretations 
But when you raise
Your insecure slingshot
And aim
The insults you fling off
In your so called game
Pin themselves on my shame
And my pain
My name becomes the same 
And your pre-directed hits
Are re-directed hits 
They spin, they fly screaming through the sky until
My bullseye
Is hit.
So please try.
Slow down, 
Hold your tongue before the regurgitation of objectification 
Sends stuttering bullets
Through the gullets 
Of your victims.
Before your Jenga block
Is knocked, 
rocked from the top
Down, towards the ground 
We all have felt this pain
Of assumptions, labels and names
So pull yourself from the game
And think
Before you speak.


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