How scared of the truth am I?
Am I truly in fear of it?
My vices and shortcomings
make me feel unworthy.
I drown my fears of lack of control
into hazy stupors
that leave me dazed by dawn.
I look at my reflection and turn away.
I feel shame in this skin.
I feel it's shortcomings acutely
and at times
feel unable to change.
I live like this.
My confidence feels all too fleeting.
I am writing this because this is the voice of criticism
that I live with.
It is the voice telling me I am unloved,
telling me I am too fat,
telling me I am weak-willed,
telling me nothing can change,
telling me I am going to die alone,
telling me that the art I create is a fool's errand.
I gave it voice today
so I could say this:
You are wrong.
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