I Killed a Part of Me Today
And I’d do it again
I killed someone today.
They stood between me and my dreams,
and I knocked them down.
I was unsure at first.
I could still hear their voice calling to me:
“You’ll never do it.”
“Quit now.”
“They’re better than you.”
Even with their last words, they spewed hate,
begging me to turn around, to go back, to give up.
I saw them lying there,
grabbing at my feet, trying to pull me down,
and I felt sorry for them. Just for a moment
because without me, they have no power.
I knelt down, staring intensely into their eyes.
Searching.
For what? Perhaps, hope. Perhaps, change
or something worth holding on to.
They stared back — their cold eyes fixed on mine,
whispering weakly,
“You’ll fail without me.”
To which I replied,
“Now, we’ll never know,”
wrapping my hands around their neck
and releasing them from my world.
I killed the imposter today,
the one that stood between me and my dreams.
I’m no longer burdened by their doubt,
that loud voice telling me to turn back or stop.
They said I’d fail without them, yet here I thrive.
They said I’d never be something, yet I’m everything.
I killed the imposter today,
and tomorrow, I’ll do the same.
Again and again,
again and again, until the end.
