There’s a cruel inner judge that lives inside my head
It shuts down doors and fills me with dread.
Doling out shoulds and musts and oughts
It steals my dreams and makes me fraught.
A thought may emerge that’s shiny and hot
But the judge will shame and tarnish the shot.
When I sit to write, the judge becomes strong,
Knowing what’s right, telling me I’m wrong.
It’s scary feeling my work with no sun
Where judge lives on, my words are undone.
Scarier still is realising the fact
that judge takes control with defence and attack.
I’m scared that judge lives inside for free
and its voice sounds uncannily just like me.