concrete (n).

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Every time you question yourself, 
“is it good?” another part of you 
turns to granite. 

 It starts with the folds of your ears 
and then moves to your knee caps, and then 
your arms will grow heavy from 
all of your doubts, hardening. 

“Is it good, this thing I’m making?  Is it, 
like I hoped, pleasing to the crowd, 
impressive to the masses?” 

My neck, my shoulders, they buckle 
from the weight, the veil of my 
eyelids cause my gaze to close 
in on itself.