Hurt

Why does it hurt so much

When rejection happens?

Is it them

Or me?

Why does it sting?

Does it hurt

Because it's unfair?

Because there's

A dent in my armour

Of sarcasm and wit?

Or does it hurt

Because

Let's face it,

It's not about me.

It's about what I do,

And I'm mad

Because it's not ok

To be

Hit with a shovel

Of denial

And rudeness

After asking

A simple question.

It's not ok

To be entitled

Or bitchy

When asked politely.

It's not damn ok

To reject somebody

On the grounds

Of a picture attached

To the words.

It's not bloodу ok

To think

You've got the right

To flush me off

Like used toilet paper,

Simply because

Let's face it,

You're obnoxious and rude.

It takes guts

To submit your work.

More guts

Than to pretend

You are a Miranda Priestley,

At the head of

The collective of words.

No one has that right.

To judge my work

Without even bothering

To read it.

No one has the right

To rob me of dignity.

No one has the right

To make me feel

Worthless.

And I'm gonna stick to

My opinion.

If that means I'm

The sword

Rather than a pillow,

I'd rather be a sword.

Just to cut you off.

And possibly down.

I'd rather be like

Edgar Poe

Than to use his name

As a funny play

On words.

And he was called

A tomahawk man

For a reason.

So take your arrogance

And pack it off

To some nether region.

And do it well

So it stays put.

And I'm gonna do

My bloody thing

The way I see it fit.

I'm not gonna change

My plots or characters

Because someone

Isn't up for reading it.

It's not my issue.

But I'm not

Gonna be cancelled

Or judged

For being myself.

I toast you.

But this well may be

Poisoned.

.