I Killed the Word Should

I killed the word should.
I erased it from my vocabulary.
From the far reaches of my mind
Where the word begins its control of my being.
Oh the power of one small word.
The power I gave it,
Instilled in it, nurtured it
Until it took me over.
Like a child superseding its parents.
Growing taller than they.
Bigger, stronger, wittier, sharper.

I killed the word should.
I wrote it on a scrap of paper and burned it.
I let it burn like a torch and then released it,
Blackened, carboned, into the wind. I
Watched it sail away,
Growing more elated with every inch of distance
Between myself and that vile word.
That ugly word that imprisoned me
Mind and body.

I killed the word should.
I scratched it out of every dictionary and thesaurus I own.
In my world it ceases to exist.
I know of no such word.
Nor its limitations or convictions.
I suffer no more under its weight.
My spirit no longer broken by its taunts of failure.
Failure to finish or to start.
Oh, the power of killing such a small word.
The wonderful, invigorating feeling of victory.
I have reclaimed myself.
My mind and body have been restored.