I'm not as nice as I think I am

Nor as polite as I could be;

I've oft been told that I am rude

And my temper runs away from me;

I've scorned the work of others

Turning a blind eye to my own mistakes;

Made comments plenty that benefit none

And when confronted, I grow ashamed.

My shame then makes me hateful

Makes me lash out in jealousy, spite

More than once I've cut off my nose

In order to gain a personal right

And if this poem is overly bitter

And utterly out of form and rhyme

Then please, I pray, do not tell me so

I fear I will not respond in a voice that's kind