My Intuition: A Poem

My mind is full of noise. It seems as if I never have a moment of quiet.

The voice of my intuition is nearly silent.

It lets everyone's loud voices speak over it. Their voices talk louder and louder.

My intuition never asks them to listen, it enjoys putting them first and taking away my power.

As soon as I try to get it to speak and lead the way, it shuts down and goes quiet.

It likes how its shyness puts me through a mental riot.

My intuition is cruel, sadistic — it wants me to suffer.

It knows what I want, yet denies me the pleasure.

It smugly smiles at me and laughs at my humiliation.

It tells me, "You will never get what you want, so stop trying" in every hard situation.

I envy those with intuitions that are open and free.

The only thing that motivates mine is evoking shame and anxiety.

Their intuitions try to make their world bright and happy.

I daydream about mine finally wanting to look after me.

I want to speak my mind, stand up for myself, and try to improve my life.

But it feels impossible, since my intuition doesn't like watching me thrive.

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