“Insects sting, not from malice, but because they want to live. It is the same with critics—they desire our blood, not pain.”
Friedrich Nietzsche,
‘Miscellaneous Maxims and Opinions’ (1879)

Vultures. Tormentors.
Monsters in pain
Preying for helplessness
Living in shame

Vicious young ladies
Insecure with themselves
Their browbeating’s really
A sick call for help

Screwed up in the mind
And starving for change
Ravenous for praise
For attention, for fame

You’re fat
And your ugly
You’re worthless; you’re trash
They pass on these thoughts
To the ones they harass

And nobody wins
But the self-doubting mind
That dark, evil demon
Can be so unkind

The bullies, they really
Can’t see what they do
Can’t see hating themselves
Makes them hate others too

So take pity on them
The savage young beasts
Rise above their cruel words
Indulge in the feast

The feast that is knowing
You’re strong and secure
You are good enough
Even when you’re unsure

And fill up on truth
And drink to your scars
For they’re what make you
The person you are

The vultures will feed
Rip bodies to shreds
But they will not satisfy
Their insatiable dread

And if one of them catches you
Don’t run away
Try to feed them some truth
They might change their cruel ways

And don’t settle for worthless
For self-doubt and pain
And know that you, too
Will be whole again