Judged Mental

I caught you scared and unprepared

when the reality of my personality flared.

You reached for the straw in my eye,

something barely even there,

while I’m ducking rafters from your lies,

thrown around like you don’t care.

Your snide little lines from the sidelines slide.

You hide in your pride like it’s fortified.

Presuming to judge me?

When truth is something you never tried,

and honesty’s a suit you never wore in your life.

Critical isn’t spiritual.

Your distaste is just habitual,

a mirror of your own disgrace,

projected on my face like it’s something biblical.

Society’s rules are a mirror, not a spotlight,

yet you swing your opinion like you forged a right.

Call me flawed while your whole act’s contrite.

I earned my name in hard fights;

you counterfeit yours each night.

You front like everything’s fine,

but that mask is thin by design.

Behind your chaos out-of-order

sits a personality disorder on the border… lines,

like digging for the cracks in a diamond.

Even dying, you’d still slide in.

You stole my innocence like it was a hymen,

spin my sins into the villain,

but this scarred heart stays defiant.

From all this mess,

you slide toward prejudice.

Only my flaws

pass through your jaws,

while the truth sits just beyond your reach,

getting missed.

But here’s the part you didn’t foresee:

your thoughts aren’t welcome inside of me.

My love stays solid, my mind stays free.

My brain’s not a space you rent for free,

and after stacking all this judgmental debris,

turns out

you’re the one

who’s been

judged mental—

not me.