You see, if I wanted to, I could do things she doesn't expect of me.
Heck, that's what I've always wanted to do.
Do things to surprise her. Shock her, even.
Things that would knock off her imaginary socks.
You see, I would've have done them if not for her smug smile.
Which she flashes at me with an alarming frequency
Similar to that of her rancid breath trickling down my neck.
She's clung around me, hands tied in a bow.
Voila, now I have a bitch for an appendage.
It's as if an alarm goes off when she sees me prepping for take off.
So even before take off, I've had an emergency landing.
What's the use of wings then? I ask.
With a giggle like a gaggle of geese,
that bitch tightens her grasp around my throat;
Leaves my question hanging, without an answer.
Like a life jacket without any air.
She points her concave nails at people she thinks are cool,
She dictates what it means to be cool.
She sermonises, makes sweeping generalisations.
And beneath all those fancy didactic intentions,
Lies a pursuant traitor, pretending to be a friend.
Sometimes, I'm convinced I'm not the kind of cool she thinks is cool.
I can't tell post-rock from progressive rock.
I couldn't care less if they were two names for the same thing.
I can't surf nor can I skate board.
I don't know what being hungover from a hangover feels like.
I don't have good dope or cigarettes to lend.
Or the money for EDM gigs to attend.
I don't play no cello nor do I play mind games.
I once went to the movies alone, multiple times.
I can't grow a beard and that's tragic.
Yes, I did have red hair once but that was when I had ADHD.
You see, she thinks I'm not good enough.
And she thinks out loud, almost always.
In which case, her thoughts become destructive.
You'd never guess how much harm her thoughts do to me.
Not only are her thoughts potent,
they also have impeccable timing.
She's a bitch, not only for tearing me down, but for feeding on me.
Her sheer existence perplexes me,
'cause she wouldn't if I didn't allow it.
But yet she exists, comfortably cocooned in my spine.
Only because I allow her to live without rent.
If I were a fighting bull, she'd keep me from my fearlessness.
If I were a tight-rope walker, she'd keep me from my rope.
If I were a sniffer dog, she'd keep me from my nose.
But I'm a human being so she keeps me away from my purpose.
'cause she knows, the day I find it, she'll have to pack up and get out.
Until then, we'll have to co-habit,
In this no-quarter-given-and-no-quarter-received relationship.
Last night, she told me "You cannot write."
I could silence her only if I went ahead and wrote about her murderous ways.
She's silent at the moment, which means I've found fleeting success.
You see, now I've stopped being passive,
I smack that bitch right in the face
when I get up and do exactly what she thinks I can't.
Sometimes I'm a failure.
But failures deserve a chance.
She doesn't.
She is Self-Doubt.
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