I Don't Have a Problem With You — I Have a Problem With Your Ego




What’s wrong with you?

No, really—

what’s wrong with you?


Why the obsession with being right

when you’re standing knee-deep in wrong?

Do you even see it,

or do you just like the sound of your own voice

bouncing off the walls of your ego’s echo chamber?


You wear wisdom like a costume,

but underneath—

there’s nothing but air.


You parade as the saint

everyone supposedly “dislikes” for their kindness—

but that’s not it.

It’s the naivety,

the desperate people-pleasing,

the blindness to the hands steering you straight into a cliff.

You call it kindness.

I call it denial.


You say you don’t care what people think,

but you do.

You say you hate attention,

but I see you bathing in it—

pretending to drown

while secretly breathing it in.


You say you’re warm,

but your kindness has frostbite.

You say you’re humble,

but your eyes are glass daggers,

your smile is a locked door.


You point at everyone’s flaws

like you’re holding court—

Toxic.

Mistake.

Narcissist.

But your own basket is overflowing,

and you keep pretending it’s empty.


You’re a bully wearing a bruise,

a coward clinging to control,

and now that your grip is slipping,

you’ll crush anyone

just to feel tall.


But here’s the truth—

you’re the small one.

Always have been.

And no mask,

no posture,

no carefully staged performance

can keep that from spilling into the light.


Your ego is screaming now,

so loud I can hear the panic

rattling in your bones.


I see your fear.

I see your jealousy.

I see the envy bleeding through your skin.


And I don’t hate you.

I just know

you’re being devoured

by the only thing

you ever truly loved—


your ego.





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