The indecision monster
Is the meanest one of all
He’s made of murky mushness
And he’s ten or twelve feet tall.
He’s bigger than your want-to
And he’s bigger than your will
And thoughts like: “I shall buy these shoes”
He’ll torture, slash and kill.
He’ll stun you to a statue
When you try to send a text
And set your inner GPS
To ‘address of your ex.’
He’ll make you want to go to Spain
Or maybe write a book
And then his team of ‘don’t elves’
Show up everywhere you look.
The don’t elves sing cacophonies
Of pros, cons, fors, againsts
And when you try to run from them
They strap you on the fence.
You can tape the monster’s mouth shut
And ignore his don’t elf team
But they’ll re-emerge as actors
In a cautionary dream.
This nasty monster traps
Your most assured, decisive thoughts
Then injects them with an equal dose
Of “ought tos” and “ought nots”
You’ll be chewing on your flounder
Thinking: “Should’ve got the steak.”
He’ll make you wobble like a top
‘Round every choice you make.
The more you try to fight him
The more massive he will grow
‘Cause after all he feeds on words
Like “shouldn’t,” “don’t,” and “no.”
You might as well embrace him
Since he’s only made of mush
And as it’s such a shock to him
It often makes him shush.
