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.
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