Queen of the Mundane

 

You

crave control like an addict.

 

You

know-it-all-nothing.

 

You:

Ego fragile as tissue paper.

 

I see you

(even with my blind eyes).

 

I see right through you;

my Third Eye developed over time.

 

I stared at people as a baby; I read their minds...

they all ran away screaming.

 

I only smiled for my mother

(which secretly pleased her).

 

Now I bite my own tongue –

otherwise all Hell would break loose;

 

black bats and ravens

would darken the sky.

 

Sometimes

I even scare me, myself, and I.

 

Witch.

 

You

wouldn’t know what hit you.

 

You

wouldn’t even see it coming

 

until it was too late;

my words would eviscerate –

 

it’s in everyone’s best interest

that I bite down (hard) on my tongue,

 

feed on my own blood

(loose lips sink ships);

 

remain, not only blind,

but mute as well.

 

You

think you know me.

 

You

haven’t a clue.

 

You – fixated

on controlling the mundane.

 

Bitch,

it’s better for both of us

that way.