Reverse Midas Touch
Never good enough
Never good enough
Try a little harder
Punish
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
Embraced
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!
Fresh Hell 