Bully

I was one of those bullies
who killed others with words.
I was a hot head and had a mouth
that was much to big.
I enjoyed stepping on other people's spirits
and crushing them to sand.
I wouldn't ever hit anyone, no,
I was too frightened of the consequences,
so I hid behind my wall,
in a tower of words that said bitch

It never fazed me when someone cried,
I never noticed the features of those
I called ugly, fat, and hideous.
I never felt guilty when I saw the scars
on the arms of those I spat at,
it was okay, because it never hurt me, so
why care?

I never thought
that was my problem.
I never cared
that was my issue.

Hate made me stronger,
but I never realized
that all those people I called monsters,
they were people holding mirrors,
and I kept seeing reflections of me.