Consumed with judgments no one wants to hear,
I let the criticism rip inside:
unfocused; sloppy; paralyzed by fear;
deluded by a needy ego; pride
engendered by a spoiled attitude
and peppered with a petulance as strong
as conscience ought to be; with manners crude
and sweet and humble like a hackneyed song.

It won’t do any good to use my voice
for warnings that will ever be ignored.
I heard the arrogance. I watched the choice,
and now I’ll read the narrative. The word
will twist the memory into a lie.
The only person listening is I.