I’m hypercritical of her or him.
I pick apart the problem hurting you.
Distinguishing the foliage from limb
is play for me; I penetrate. It’s true
my skill identifying right from wrong
impresses even I who know it best.
I look at you and know why you’re not strong.
I listen, so my wisdom isn’t guessed.

But on occasion I can recognize
that I must aim analysis at me.
Remembering to cast myopic eyes
at details personal, I start to see
within myself, less pretty than I please,
the contours of my own deficiencies.