I woke up this morning to a troll in my head.
 He snuck in on tiptoes while I was in bed.
 He fouled my pillow with poisonous dreams.
 Now he’s squatting and snacking on my self-esteem.
  
 While I gaze blearily at my reflection,
 he lists out a litany of my rejection.
  
 You are fat and jiggly. See that cellulite there?
 You are weak and broken, topped with frizzly hair.
 You think you are clever but everyone sees,
 you’re all hat and no cattle, no spark just disease.
  
 I flip him the bird and climb in the shower.
 Take a deep breath, and summon my power.
  
 Hair fluffed, face moisturized, teeth scrubbed to a shine.
 Fresh clothes, good morning, I’m doing just fine.
 I brew a strong coffee then get to my day.
 I parent and work, bird by bird find my way.
  
 By evening the troll is on the way out.
 Taking with him deprecation and doubt.
  
 I say “I’m not perfect. I’m broken. Abrupt.
 My edges are sharp. Sometimes I erupt.
 I lead with my heart, awkward but true.
 But my pain makes me beautiful, and you see it, too.