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To my inner critic

I know you love me,

but you don't know love.

How would you?

I don't know how to love.

You destroy whatever I think,

almost immediately.

You invalidate whatever I feel,

without mercy or even pity.

You are like ancient cassette

playing the same script

on a loop, on repeat;

your monologue is toxic.

You are the voice of my mother

and the mothers who came before her.

You are the voice of my father

his brothers, and their father.

You are my own voice,

obsessed with pleasing them all.

You are an illusion made up of chatter,

rejection and disgust.

You are a box of negative energy,

filled with egocentric love.

I don't need you every step of my way,

I am tired of living under your maleficent spell.

Please stop pointing towards what's wrong,

trust that I can take care of my own.

Let me be a grown-up and make mistakes.

Let me be a child and give me space to play.

Let me turn you into a box of resources

I can reach out to when I need one.

Stay kind, stay friendly, stay open;

I will reach out.

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