inner critic

My inner critic

despises my every word

Devours the joy that once was

Spitting complaints and

Biting critiques

Disguised as helpful suggestion

She prefers

Precision over pleasure

Excellence over effort

And God-like perfection

Above all

Her desire for Beauty

Is both precious

And punishing

Divine and deadly —

The parent who sees more for you

But refuses to see you

The lover whose passion

belongs only

to your potential

Her impossible hunger

For my language (say more)

Matches only

Her infinite appetite

For my silence (say less)

She loves me the best way she can,

Conditionally

Which, I try to tell her,

Is not love at all

But then why,

She asks,

Does it feel so

Familiar so

Inevitable so

Ordained

Once again

She readies herself

To gobble my gladness

Banish the flow

With harsh words of exile

Faithfully insisting this

This is how we grow

This is how we leap

Into the halls of greatness

That were always ours to walk

Even if, I hear her say,

On bloody, broken feet

The ending is predictable

Meaning it can be said

Before it is said

Meaning it already has been said

Meaning it still deserves saying that

Ultimately I

Can never satisfy

Her unquenchable thirst

For perfection

so i abandon the