Best (Worst) Critic

The keys clack.

Each black button

That is pressed,

Dictating my life:

 

I’ll wear my best frock

And we’ll walk along

The pier

Licking Cornish ice creams

As we watch

The sea

Eating its way

Up the sand

And smooth grey rocks-

 

Hold down the backspace

And lets try that again:

 

The sun sinks below

The painted horizon

Its golden light

Stretching toward me

Across the calm lake-

 

No.

How about:

 

My heels clacked

Against the flagstones

As I hurried down

The dark alley,

Trying to ignore

The dancing shadows

That seemed to leap

At every corner-

 

But again your finger

Strays to that certain key.

Erasing your own words

As quickly as they came

To your lips;

To your fingertips.

 

Because they’re

Never quite right.

They’re never enough.

Never good enough.

Because the truth is

They’re never perfect.

And imperfection

Isn’t good enough.

 

Not for your very best

(Worst) Critic.

Not for yourself.

 

Reviews

[Eira Anchor]

oh my losh, yes! i hate everything I write! and this is troooo