The Reply Button

As I get older I feel I’ve become a little more senile,      
While I try to be respectful of other people’s views,      
I can’t commiserate with cantankerous cunts      
Continually calling themselves Christians      
Asking me to put myself in others’ shoes.      
     
I was raised conservative but now I’m progressive,     
I can also be an asshole so I can spot bullshit a mile away,      
I was taught not to be rude but I keep wanting to,      
Lord knows I try so I say to myself, I’ll reply another day.      
     
Then I see the crap from idiots posting on my page,      
And the rage inside me builds with rhyme and verse,      
Like a perverse tirade to be delivered rhetorically,      
Metaphorically I sleep on it thinking I have to be diverse.      
     
But somewhere in the middle of the night I wake up,      
I can’t remember if my mind’s rant is on the web,      
A response to ignorance when fools think they’re cool,      
With their “Let.That.Sink.In” quote without flow or ebb.      
     
You want me to walk in your thousand dollar shoes,      
Try walking barefoot and for miles, privileged shit,      
But Lord knows I try to be civil and understanding,      
So I prep poems to fire, lit with ire and ready to spit.      
     
Did I dream again, did I just respond to this “friend”?      
Did my outburst really make its way onto my page,      
I post poetry promoting peace but to this piece ‘o shite      
He likes to light the fuse so please, pardon my rage.      
     
Should I post this ode so the bloke can choke on a chode?      
Because right now I’m sleep deprived and I really can’t tell,      
Is my imagination getting the best of me? I have to reload,  
Or did I just hit the reply button and said go to hell?