I AM MY OWN WORST CRITIC

The shadow horses are approaching,

Leaving ash N’ burning such a path,

-they’re coming straight for me.

I was running for a while, but NEVER fast enough. Why must the beast stampede my steadfast journey to the bluff?

Through life and love and growing pains—spill lies like wine, I’m the carpet to your stains,

and I may not be all that walked upon; truthfully, I trip myself,

But I’ll have you know I roll my own corners and fade with time, my own worst critic, internal crime

I am FINE.

I’M FINE I’M FINE I’M FINE.

I hear the beat of hooves

My mind

Should tell me that I’m beautiful—

pLEASE Tell Me Mind, am I sweet like a clementine? Am I the FleshNpulp, the Orange RinD?

I’m only ever teetering upon the line---------------------------------------------------CHOOSE A

GODDAMN SIDE.

Smile, be yourself, ignore the noise, you’re doing FINE. Am I?

Neigh. The dark horses topple over me. I’m doing FINE. sTOp asking me. When I’m alone, I don’t feel free, please don’t pity me. The darkness always chasing me, roll my window down to breathe, if just a little,

I could ease, no breeze warm freeze hugging my knees a held-in sneeze, unsatisfying constantly…

I am running from the stampede; God FORBID they ever catch me.