opinions,
unsupported by piercing icicles of certainty and fact,
flounder uselessly in the sea of splintering glares
as if cast away from fragmented, heartbroken children

opinions,
scorching with the flushed acceptance from the flare of society,
inflate with the breath of brainwashed ignorance,
and spreads with the multitude of squirming maggots

opinions,
promoted with filthy treasure,
are recast by corrupt surgeons of broadcast,
and are duplicated like abandoned toys in starved factories

but,

opinions,
about one’s self,
are beaten and tortured,
with trivial hammers of insecurity

and

opinions,
about one’s self,
drown in the demanding flood of disgust,
and are crammed into a insignificant corner of revulsion

until they are nothing more,
than pocket-sized pennies
struggling to survive in a world
of stinging self-esteem