My expectations conquer caution thus:
They breed the “musts” and “should have beens” and I
Can feel “perfection” overtaking trust.
My day too often starts out on a lie
And by the end I feel beat down and tired,
Unable to feel joy in every day
And in the little triumphs strewn throughout.
I wish I could with fervor drive away
The oft increasing fear and growing doubt
And leave aside my expectations. This
Is my dilemma: how do I do well
And follow to the letter all my lists
Of perfect, pretty everything? it’s hell
To be a slave to what I think is me
And never let my imperfections be.
postscript
My expectations can make me discontent for no good reason.