I am a detester of whispers.
Hater of hushed laughter-
the slivers of spite that wedge themselves-
into eardrums and tear ducts,
beneath nail beds and
rupturing the smallest of the heart's blood vessels.
Shout out your discontent.
Clarify your contentions against me.
Use facts and speak plain,
that I may refute your nonsense
and retain my pride.
Spare me all your veiled contempt,
I refuse to be shrouded thus
and spoken of in third person.
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