Misconstrued Self-Image

You, with your devilish tone, send us home
to moan and groan. And you keep us, persistently,
on our toes, because no one knows what goes with you.
Without a tinge of remorse in that devilish tone of yours -
which, by the way, scorches and burns us, turns us white
with fear to utter a word - you slip in remarks that ache
and make us take, and double-take.
Why do we put up with you?

But all you do is "put up" with us, and thus, our lack of trust
in you is justified. In no way can we just confide in you
when you continue to do as you do, and pursue gratitude
through a magnitude of hate and "attitude." You roll your eyes,
wide, with vexation when we disagree with you.
And all of your sighs and grunts may stunt your growth;
because your constant state of bent over isolation, with
your arms locked and jaw tightly shut, won't be of aid to you
when you whine about looks and aesthetic pleasance.

Rather, it will simply add to your essence, your unpleasant essence.
Your lack of poise destroys your forceful arrogance.
And directly above that lack of poise, accumulating
in that skull is nothing but air, which I guess
is fairly sensible, because the density and mass are vast in scope
and it makes me wonder...
Is that why your hair is so big?

What good will it do for you? A temporary fix - fixed in that mind,
closed off from reality - seems empowering, but it makes you
intolerable when you push and pull with deceptive intentions,
that eat away at you everyday. And everyday,
you whine and complain with chilled and shrill shrieks about
what went wrong with so-and-so,
and who upset you through-and-through.

And everyday, that devilish tone, amplified with every word -
absurd, making stomachs turn - forbids your lips,
which grip onto repulsive sounds, sounds more and more like
a desperate cry for help and assistance to retract this distance.
You know the one - that distance you place and continually trace,
and retrace, without an apparent trace of consideration for
the walls you've built.

When you finally face the face that belongs to you,
coated in caked on make-up; when you finally see
through those hateful eyes, behind which despise lies, endlessly;
and when you finally see your lips, torn up by the acid
spewed from your throat, from which that devilish tone erects...
You'll probably be surprised, and you will realize that maybe
you should clean your mirror a bit more often.