My recent yesterdays have been good. I soak my soul in pride;
I believe the voice inside my head, to me, has often lied.
My pieces before me, many fold, proves false its diatribe.
The dreams I’ve foiled & knots I’ve coiled to this critic I ascribe.
The detractor perched inside my brain has often cast its shade.
It commentates each move I make & sows doubt o’er all I’ve made.
I cannot shut this cynic up but I can smother it’s flame.
Its embers always will be there but its fire my peace won’t claim.
A skeptic lives in all our minds; we decide how well it thrives.
By pumping blood in the kinder heart, the hope in us survives.