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I've been a bit free with the vitriol with a couple of poems recently, and need to check myself.  Some months ago I met a bard, Kevan Manwaring.  In his book, the Bardic Handbook, he recommends satirising oneself to see how it feels...

With satire comes responsibility
Thus spake the bard, regarding cosmic law
‘Tis true that thought and act and speech are free
But heed the truth learned by the bards of yore
What goes around and round will soon return
To that dark human place where it began
And pain shall be the lesson he shall learn
Who points his pen in anger at a man
Lest he forget, we none of us shine bright
That are not sullied by some silent shade
And he who seeks another man to slight
May curse the pen that bore the words he made
For what we see in others, we have known
Some simple human neediness or greed
The weakness we perceive is like our own
Who knows a tree that has not seen a seed
So satirise yourself, so spake the bard
Before you dare another man to mock
And turn upon yourself a light as hard
As that with which you wish a man to shock
Unshadow your shortcomings, write them true
Or fall upon your failings like a sword
For this is what you would to others do
And thine own self hast thine own pen ignored
Now weigh the pain you draw like blood from light
With cut of blade, of swift and vicious pen
Look down upon yourself from lofty height
As you would fain look down on other men
What do you see, but merely flesh and fear
A naked frightened soul that cries for love
All sorrow bound and clothed in darkness drear
With eyes up turned in hope to light above
Have pity, spake the bard, for every word
You wield will have the power to wound or heal
Remember what you here have seen and heard
Think twice before you cause a man to feel
The lacerations of your jagged wit
The schadenfreude of your savage ire
Lest you be made to join him in the pit
Lest you be so consumed in that same fire
He snuffed the candle flame, picked up his book 
And left the poet, wise from sorrow shown
An unveiled mirror’s face in which to look
At imperfection that was his alone

With satire comes responsibility
For what goes forth returns, of that be sure
And you are that which you in others see
The naked frightened soul the poet saw

by Gail
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