Alone, casting stones
At my own empty glass houses,
I play both creator and critic
Inside my too-full head.
I catch myself in conversation
With that part of me
That will always
Leave a negative review.
And no matter how many times
The management responds
With apologies, promises, flowers,
That voice keeps up its unsettling braying,
Flaying what’s left of me
Until the lifeforce is gone...
Diminished to a wannabe
Too fearful to even try out
For an also-ran.
Now, I sit and wait for that
Mythical, perfect appreciator
To magically come my way,
Linger at the threshold,
Taking it all in…
And to pronounce
All this to be good,
To be just
What it should.
- Meredith Alexander Kunz
MeredithInk 