My Mirror, Not Yours

(Originally titled: Ahuh... and then some)

I had spoken to a friend

About what gives this all meaning,

The words we write to sate our bones,

To give our souls a cleaning.

And we spoke of fools like you,

That look into our looking glass,

And take what's our reflection,

And stick it up your ass.

We don't write our souls,

For your eyes to have inspected

     every heartfelt word,

     as if you're the one neglected.

This is not play-play words,

     where you come to raise your leg

     and to piss all over me

     because your soul instead

     writes the words you had elected

     for me to rather choose.

     You're not my inspiration.

You are not my fucking muse.

You're not my family, my lover,

      acquaintance or my friend.

You're the echo of the past.

A story with an end.

This is my mirror and my image,

Where I keep my joy and pain.

If you think your teeth can cut me here,

Then you're more than just insane.

If you think that you know better,

If you're such a manly-man,

Put your money where your mouth is,

Write your own shit... if you can.

-o0o-