Here I sit
in awe of me.

Words fall from
my amazing brain
straight onto the page
in sentences that sing
and leap.

There is no doubt
My First Draft
is whole and complete.

I love me.
And I love my writing.
I sleep in deep peace.
Certain,
success is mine.
Tomorrow, I’ll send it in.

I wake rested,
excited
to read it again.

Anticipating the genius,
I wake up the computer.
At my command,
The Story appears.

Here I sit
in horror.

My brain shrinks inside.
Hiding.
Pulling away
to dissociate itself
from
My First Draft.