Vicious Eyes Poem by Em Jay Christian

How will I,
Ever understand,
Exactly,
What your vicious eyes see?
The way they dissect,
Tearing me apart,
Isolating the things,
You think make me pretty?
Leaving the rest to be,
Fixed,
Seeing flaws in my genetics.
Judging me,
More based on this,
Than on what I have to say.
The beauty with which,
I can construct ideas,
Form words,
Express emotions,
Create thought.
Perhaps we should all wish,
For enveloping blindness,
A case of cataracts,
For all of those,
Vapid, shallow souls,
Who feel it necessary,
To use their eyes,
To see only the outside of people.
Perhaps it is they,
Who should be denied,
The right to eyes.
So that they,
May not force their judgment,
Down the throats,
So sure that they are right.
Righteous pigs,
Animals around their watering hole,
Dissecting each new piece,
Of flesh,
Deciding if we're worthy,
Of being devoured.
But certainly not,
Worthy enough to speak,
Or be known for thought.
Simply good enough,
To eat,
To be bred away,
Much like cattle.
Well let me tell you something,
Pal,
Since we all appear to be,
On a farm now.
I think I would rather,
Be a horse,
Because at least no one bullshits a horse,
And when it breaks its leg,
They shoot it.