Hypocrite Poem by Tor Magnor Solvang

I might be loud, I might be rude,
I might have a bad attitude.
I might say things that are unkind,
And leave good manners far behind.

Yes, I have flaws for all to see,
I know I'm not a saint, not me.
I own the dirt upon my name,
I do not try to hide the blame.

But look at you, standing so tall,
As if you never tripped at all.
You point your finger, sharp and cold,
And judge the story that I told.

You wear a mask of polished stone,
To hide the fractures in your own.
You count my sins to pass the time,
To blind yourself to your own crime.

So throw your stones and cast your light,
And pretend your hands are clean and white.
But when the shadows start to fade,
We're both the monsters we have made.

Just because I wear a crown of thorns,
It doesn't mean your hands are pure as morn'.
You did the same, you played the game,
You just hide better behind your shame.

So do not act so high and sweet,
When your own shoes are full of sleet.
I am a jerk, that may be true,
But that doesn't make an angel of you.