We cannot take
a good, hard look
at ourselves
without help;
our own perception
a fun-house mirror,
twisting our foibles
into grotesques.
We become too big,
thinking we loom large
in the lives of others
who could not care less,
or we shrink into nothing,
disappearing from those
who miss us dearly.
Judge, jury and executioner,
we condemn ourselves
as not worthy of the air we breathe.
We cannot take
a good, hard look
at ourselves.
The look is rarely good,
and often far,
far too hard.