Reverse Midas Touch


Never good enough

Never good enough

Try a little harder


Self castigate

Mortify the flesh

Is this good yet?

Is this?

Am I still

A disappointment?


I wrote all evening

And nothing good happened.

The reverse Midas touch, I wrote.

Everything I do turns to shit.

But it wasn’t good enough either.

When will I be good enough.

When will I be satisfied.

What am I looking for?


When I write, I write what I felt that day.

So I didn’t feel anything today?

No. I felt inadequacy. That was sharp.

I need to write what is wrong

I need to write for me

I need to write for therapy

I need less judge.

I read a really bad story today by another writer.

Relatively, I’m an incredible talent.

I read a really good story today by another writer.

Relatively, I’m a half-wit.

What can I do

Why do I try so hard

Why do I try

Why do I care

Why can’t I just be happy

Writing stories and poems should be fun.

When I was a kid

Even then

I was a harsh critic.

I must have been eight

I remember judging my little kid poetry

For rhyming wife with wife. What a cop out, I thought.

I remember being displeased by my corny poem conclusion:


“What is the way to be happy?

There is only one thing

And that is, to sing!

Oh, what a good way to be happy!”


It felt wrong. Of course that wasn’t the best way to be happy.

My parents thought it was adorable

But I knew better.

I always know better.

I never trust praise.

I know my flaws.

They burn my eyes

They scald my soul

They cannot be extricated

They cannot be exorcised

They can only be


Every day.

Practice will patch the holes

Acceptance will allow for flexibility

Some days are hard

Some days are easy.

I will never meet my own expectations

So I must not allow expectations.

Oh, what a good way to be happy!














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