The Ones Who Glare At Us With Hate Eyes

If we are nicer they will come around, yes, we think so. We are optimists, we are teachers, and social workers, right? We are moms and dads, right? We are grandmas and grandpas, right? Until we meet the one who glares at us with the hate eyes, who flinches at our body movements, who masticates our niceness with sheer meanness, and slaps us upside our heads with pure evil. The ones who are experts at picking at our leavings, and our frailties, and our self-doubts, flinging them angrily into the tornado of their wrath, including us quickly into their storm of hopelessness, scorning us, in a non-violent violent way Seeing our compassion and empathy as tools of the weak, laughing at our vulnerabilities, taking advantage, and gloating as we are now the ones who flinch, who feel victimized, souls lost in despair. These are the hopeless, and they are delivered onto us by the anti-moms, the ones whose homes are filled with the sounds of anger and hate, rage rules there. These little ones have learned through their yellow-glasses that life is hard, and they are never going to rise above the stench of sorrow. They throw away chance after opportunity after fresh start after chance, proving to us, that they are worthless, so they can validate their mothers.