The mockingbird in my head
doesn't copy what I say —
he avers it wasn't worth saying,
is the stupidest think he's ever heard.
When I manage to keep my mouth shut
he's malleable, can critique my thoughts
with equanimity, finding them ridiculous.
He dives at me, aiming for my head,
when I get close to something good,
telling me I have no right to it.
But when I back off and think about it,
when I give myself a bit of credit,
I understand the mockingbird
has nothing original to say,
lives by following, parroting, mimicking.
He has no authority. If I tune in
to listen to my higher power,
I get a better picture, more kindly said,
and I can grow instead of cowering
under the assault of the stupid mockingbird
inhabiting my head.
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