She sat engrossed, thinking profound, or so the rest in the room thought.
“Was she really?”, to herself she asked.
“Nothing’s in there except an empty chaos.”, silently murmured.
Can’t process nor can she think.
Others still believe, she’ll come up with the goods in a blink.
Self doubt has made an entry, sunk in deep
With every passing day, climbing out faces a new level of steep.
Past works show otherwise.
For how long will history be the alibi.
People around, see her in a different light.
Is she being overly critical, or is it just an internal fight?
Last few weeks, work satisfaction’s been below par.
Ideas & creativity have moved long and far.
This time it’s not about proving to the others.
She wants to rise in her own eyes again.