Good intentions overwhelm me like the bullies on the playground.
They hover just around the corner, waiting to nail me.
I smell them, sense their power over my well feeling, being.
Creatures I have created from the ambitious eager me.
Tracking me, hunting me, haunting me every moment.
I must be stuck with them forever, homeless urchins searchin’.
Waiting to set me up. For failure. For self-loathing.
They pound on the door when I try to take a nap.
They point out the pounds; every mirror; at least, the beast.
And the exercise equipment sits, alone and forlorn.
The memoir stands still as time keeps creating.
Good intentions bully me to no avail, I fail.
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