My inner critic has fallen to depression,
And with it comes humor’s repression-
Life can feel so contrived
as I try to survive
Since her demise has engendered aggression.
My mood had turned bad and bled out
In a gushing display of self doubt,
I indulged it a while,
But it’s just not my style
I needed to stop freakin’ out!
So I gathered myself up and ran,
despite that I ache, like a battered old man.
I was running nowhere
And once I got there
Found I ended up where I began.
“Well, that didn’t work” I declared
“Apparently I’m quite unprepared
For a shift in my mood,”
And I continued to brood
When my inner critic’s temperament flaired.
“Get over yourself already!
You’re ridiculously bummed and unsteady!
You have to snap out
Or you’re going to burn out!
If you think it’s bad now, just get ready!”
Though appearing quite bad it gets worse,
When you choose to stay so obverse.
Without confronting the truth
The uncomfortable sooth
Becomes still more real, but perverse.
So now I ready myself for the fight.
I expect a sleepless and tiresome night,
while I confront life’s despair
and attempt to loosen the snare
that has snagged me in this miserable plight.