Poetry

A certain smug know it all with a penchant for telling me what to do is making me feel, well, none to smug.

This is an old poem, but I wanted to pull it out in honour of said know-a-lot.

There’s a reason I don’t rise
To the fight
There’s reason I don’t retaliate
When I might
Have reason too
I’m not seasoned too
I sit back, relax and
See what you do
Because hatred and violence can only
Lead one way
And I’m not ready to take
That path today
You’re not worth it man
You think you’re worth it man
You talk trash to me but
You’re far from perfect man
In the game of life you’re
Never dealt the perfect hand