Inadequate

Sleepless nights ought to grow flowers on my brain

Little ideas and smiley faces 

Sheathed in color and rolled in rich scent

But they do not. 

Instead, they scour my brain clean, they scrub until it hurts

They find the innermost layers unsatisfactory

They criticize and yell and finally breathless collapse to the floor 

Still whispering "not good enough, never good enough" 

Because sleepless nights find me at my worst 

And they never, ever hesitate to tell me so. 

gardening

Your mind is a flower garden,
your thoughts are daisies.
As a mother tells her toddler,
"Don’t pluck them until they’re ready"
so control your mouth.