Yes, it's true, there's something quite delicious
in the spice of anger, the way it fuels
a sense of self-import, a perverse thrill.
That person over there—such a fool
for wearing that hat, for smiling too wide.
The nerves they touch, the comfort they disturb,
are less about them and more our own pride.
Their presence a simple, floating proverb
of our better sense, our finer graces.
Their blunders make us saints by implication.
Imagine their faces in distant places,
exiled from the realm of our frustration.
In their flaws, we find our own clean mirror.
Their faults polish our edges, make them clearer.
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Author:
gray0328 (
Offline) - Published: December 2nd, 2024 12:43
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 28
- Users favorite of this poem: Mutley Ravishes
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Comments2
I enjoyed the read
Bullseye! And wanting to inflict pain on others to "get them back" for "causing" "our" pain!
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