Kill Your Darlings
by Lily Sandidge
The ego is a bad little dog.
Always barking, always howling,
pouncing on any small, twitching thing.
It’s hard to walk softly with
all that unrealized genius
tattling at its throat.
It may soothe the nerves
that prickle at the jolting
Of the lock, but who does
that dog really serve?
With a yip, it sends
white doves flapping,
leaving pale feathers,
Only the impression of flight.
Cut it loose, bury the leash,
And tell the kids it went
to a farm upstate. You have to
be a little heartless
if you want to hear
the morning sing.