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This Watcher of Mine
She’s stubborn, this watcher of mine and
she fights hard to win the battles
she wages in my mind.
Her victory comes when I shrink
away from the words
that fight to break free.
Yet, she looks at me with scorn
when I give up and walk away,
but isn’t that what she wanted?
She delights it seems
in planting seeds of doubt that seem to
grow wild and rampant.
Convincing me my words are nothing
except foolish, childish dreams.
“Who would care”?
She asks with contempt.
“What if you’re right”?
I scream at her.
As she turns to walk away
she looks over her shoulder
and softly replies,
“What if I’m wrong”?