Prophecy

And she tells, and she tells, and she tells herself 
To conceive, to believe, to accept when good is said, 
And she trawls through and draws out and examines 
And admits the evidence backing the claim as true, 

But soon, pretty soon, all too soon comes the doubt 
So she drops, she drops, she discards, disregards 
What was said in kindness and was gained only by fluke and 
Was what anyone else could have done 

And so, soon, pretty soon, all too soon the proof is gone 
And she is left with, she renders what is and isn’t as, 
She proves beyond reasonable doubt 
What she suspected of herself all along 

That she is nothing, nothing, nothing 
Nothing special, nothing worthy, nothing at all 
And nothing is all she has ever been 
And nothing is all she will ever amount to 

And so the cycle continues with her failing to see 
Any part of her in a light of positivity 
And sure enough she shrinks to a small empty circle 
And fulfils the zero of her self-prophecy