The vines which started as harmless beings
Grew into a thick cluster of deadly tendrils.
On the end of each vine were nasty mouths.
Spewing nothing but insults and evil.

Each mouth ridiculed my writing.
Declaring my creations to be utter garbage.
Constantly I was reminded by them
I could never pass, only fail.

The vines grasped my ideas and choked them to death.
None of my work complied with their twisted standards.
I lost hope of returning to the distant reality
Where I felt confident in the words I wrote down.

A gathering of professional writers sat by me
Each creating marvelous literature.
The vines opened their mouths to taunt me
"You'll never amount to their skill!"

In a flash, the writers jumped up
Pulling out sharp, polished machetes.
They charged the monsters like ferocious bears
Hacking the vines down one by one.

After the massacre, I glanced at my slain demons
Stunned by the brave act I witnessed.
The writers dropped their blades and extended their hands.
With smiles on their faces, the invited me to come close.

"The vines don't control you anymore."
"Come with us, we will teach you."

My vines were cut, and my insecurity diminished.
Finally, I returned to my old reality.

(Try to break your vines or find someone to break them for you.)
-Arkada