In the eyes of my criticism

In the eyes of my criticism


In the eyes of my criticism

I cannot stand tall

There are whispers to remind me

I am not enough


In the eyes of my criticism

Failure is the mark

Where I am found lacking

And everyone will know


They’ll see me the way I do

This messy broken web

A collection of yesterdays

With voices in my head


They’ll nod as they hear

Just what I think of me

And that my biggest fear

Is they have a red pen too


The same one I use to tell me

In the test of life, I’m wrong

Where my pencil’s point is off

The eraser has been gnawed

And life is etched in Sharpies

And I’m a Mr. Sketch

And though my favorite scent is bluberries

I swear I smell like licorice


In the I’s of my criticism

I am always wrong

If life is true or false

I wrote in I don’t know


In the eyes of my criticism

Every day and A is F

Where trying my best to be perfect

Is met with where’s the rest?


I can hear myself grading

Everything I’ve gotten wrong

Every smiley sticker given

Is turned to an angry frown

In the I’s of my criticism

I am sub of the par

There’s nothing I can do right

Listening to me talk


In the eyes of my maker

We are one and the same

Every time I hate myself

I’ve put us both through shame


The I’s that said I’m wrong

Weren’t of nature’s design

It is the broken inner workings

Of society’s brainwashed mind


The eyes that let there be light

Were the makings of divine

It is the perfection of the chaos

Where are wrongs are always just right



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