Free Verse: Videre, Mirar

You are a cowed bully by confrontation and udder-ly lackluster in confidence. känfəˌdant - plural.

You are benign periductal mastitis ampersand the spilt tears of sour milk məˈliɡnəns.

You are an exhibitionist of earnest toil’s sweat made mopping up the the accountability of moping amongst people and issues that are your own decisions.

You sweep life’s lemons under a pink elephant panel rug. Leather or not.

You serve up the people who show you kindness in a decanter of lemonade colored piss.  ek-si-ˈkō-səs.

Your parched naso-labial folds calling out about the salty rivers inflicted upon your naso-lacrimal ducts.

Raising your fists to the skies, cursing far off UnidentiFied Objections so that you can alienate those closest to you. No Jump-Yip??!

Scavenging for molehills tall enough to trip yourself and fall into the tectonic seasoning of appeals for sympathy. So Salty.

Seasoned eggs peppered with spite as you constantly scramble over these mountains.

Over the top empty gestures full of disingenuous, underhanded trigger repetition.

Frenetically auto-poetic.

Deliberately unaware of your lack of accountability to your varying degrees of consciousness.

Preternaturally inauthentic. 

Predanaturally pathological. 

Praetor to armies of predetermined self-propelled prophesies of pity. Parthian shots.

Chin on shoulder, tongue wagging at the blades waging whisper wars.

Self elected official of character assassination campaigns.

Crowdfunding via comrades made to eat crow after being branded enemies by your #1 opponent; Known to you as the Roman numeral one.