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.
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