Garden of Manners

You definitely need
To think twice
When you see a small weed
In my garden of manners
For your desire to see fault
Will turn it into a shrub
Yet I smell not the bad odour
Of its cursed leaves
Which is a torture
To your lungs
Never noise abroad
About me not being good
At something you do well
As I never claimed
To be good at it
An absurd incongruancy!
Competing with an opponent
You regard with contempt!
A blatant lie bounces
Off your lips
Through a porous face mask
You have no regard
For a man
Who knows not how
To do a simple thing right
Yet you delight
In doing it better
Than the very man
A hellish appetite for attention
That unmasks
A feeling of inadequacy
The very handicap
That you delight
To see in others.
The more fault
You seek to find
The more the little virtues
You ignore with pangs of jealousy
Meet your eyes
In tiny bunches
That gets inflated
Whenever you try to view
That dark cloud
Behind every circle
Of luminosity.