The axe

There was a madman running around her mind
Wielding an axe
Screaming expletives
Magnifying her flaws
Minimizing her gains
Threatening to chop down
Every last good thing she’d ever loved.
She knew the madman well
And she’d grown accustomed
To the gashes his axe would leave behind-
Deep doubt of her reason for being here
A confidence that leaked too easily
A broken narrative.
Nothing was sacred
Nothing was good enough
The smallest of errors
Weighed a thousand times more
Than her greatest feat
No amount of reassurance
Seemed to shield the blows
Nothing short of utter perfection
Would get it to stop.

O, that stupid axe.

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