It is what I do best.
My sixth sense.
I taste it everywhere I go.
Picking apart a smile to reveal the story behind the wrinkles.
Constantly correcting grammar.
Eyeing an outfit to predict a personality.
Silently rewriting books as I read them.
Every little thing imaginable, I "fix" without a spoken word.
It is the easiest way to push someone away.
Only few can handle the pressure.
I can hardly handle it at times.
Even right now, I am reading and re-reading my own poem.
Over and over again.
Now, let me ask you, is it a blessing or a curse?
Destructive thoughts consuming your mind.
Pushing those that you care about the most the farthest away.
Allowing yourself to be the main target of your own criticism.
But don't answer that.
Because I will just correct your answer.
Share This Poem