Judgement Day

I once heard the saying “Don’t judge a man until you’ve walked two moons in his moccasins.” Well, men can be such idiots at times that it seems like their profession. There’s a man right now spewing words that shouldn’t be expressed unless he wants to be mocked. Women, don’t act like you’re godly, many of us bring on stupidity too and that’s shameful for any gender. I don’t like to judge people but I love picking at flaws. I love to make a mere soul unravel, their skin paper in my hands I have every means of turning them into paper balls if I wish (or feel like they deserve it). Sometimes I think I’m sick for feeling that way. We’re all sick. Or dead. What’s the definition of completely healthy anyway? You still have that mole, the sniffles or the desire to stab at your target, whatever or whoever it may be, we’re all so sick. And you’re not when you’re dead. 

 

There’s a couple dancing under a street lamp that doesn’t fulfill its duty as a street lamp but the moonlight is bright enough for them. Don’t…don’t…don’t…oh I judge them anyway, they’re stupid. Not the kind of stupid that means lacking brain cells and I.Q points, but c’mon, the whole damn neighborhood sees your red strings. They see how every twirl knots them up, tangles the both of you more, so much more that simply doing the dance in reverse won’t save you. They see and I see that your star-lit, cloudless, fantasy love is not the right one. I see that your strings of fate tied at your pinkies don’t bring you together, for the rest of her string lines up to the main street and probably stretches downtown. I see that the rest of his string is a tightrope in the whole opposite direction. Fools. They’re only setting themselves up for a messy heartbreak. 

 

I was told once (when being judgmental), “Only God can judge me.” Sorry m’am, there is no God. Sorry sir, that church by your house was closed down but not because of the government, state, “not meant to be” or someone rubbed up a child the wrong way. It’s closed because the people of the church, the ones you sang your hymns with, woke up while you were in a blinding, “heaven vs hell”, slumber of a life and they left because they began to believe in something else: the truth. 

 

I’m never afraid to judge because 99% of it stays in my head because I have a heart and don’t want to rain on people’s (pathetic) little parades. Does this make me the bitch witch of a story? Does my behavior disgust you? Good. Everyone shoves flower petals down your throats and I choose glass because it cuts so you know its there even if you see right through it. People need to wake up and smell the coffee or have the coffee beans thrown in their faces, they took more than enough time to stop and smell the roses. Pinch your skin a little more. Surround yourself by the truth that isn’t sugarcoated, blinded by how nice a pair of lips feel on yours or disguised in robes and suggesting to get on your knees when life gets hard. It’s not nice to lie to others but a damn shame to lie to yourself. 

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