I’m mean.

They say I’m mean.

I was nice once, right?

I’m not mean?

I’m not offending people for fun,

I’m biting back because I was bitten.

They feed me insults,

expect me to eat.

I’m not mean.

I’m not mean.

Bitten, broken,

bitter and tired,

I’m not mean.

You hurt me.

I broke.

What do you expect?

I’m mean.

I’m mean.

I’m a wreck,

I’m broken, bitten,

tired and bitter,

you only see

what I say.

This is why I want

to be a psychologist.

so people understand

that I understand them.

People don’t understand me.

But I do, them.

You become mean

when you feel you need to.

Your ego looms large,

your insults much larger.

Ever wonder why I bite the hand that feeds me,

so that maybe, just maybe,

you’ll let me starve?