Passing Judgement

You turn your head away,
a star in your own sanctimonious soap opera.

For the cost of one of your overpriced lattes,
I could ease the gnawing ache in my belly,
but no, you need that latte.
God forbid you resort to instant.

You roll your eyes,
the ones you spent hours staring at
in the mirror of your fancy ass bathroom,
as you carefully coated those sneering lips
in I Don’t Give A Fuck Red.
“He’ll only spend it on drugs and alcohol.”

Kindness costsĀ nothing, bitch!
A smile costs nothing.

No, of course you can’t spare a dollar.
Jenny’s phone is two models out of date,
and Little Johnny wants new soccer boots
because green isn’t his favourite colour anymore.

You keep walking in your fucking expensive shoes
that hurt like a bastard, but hey, they look good.
You keep passing judgement.
Don’t you worry about me. I’ll be fine.