Days are tough, nights painful.
I confront and suppress my fears,
Of what may happen to my dears
I catch myself worrying and frowning.
Tired of my own defaulting and fawning.
Even when I feel sure of what to do.
The right, nay, healthy thing to do.
Problem is, I’m not the right kind of right.
To do the right thing right now
I never know who is tormenting me.
The person outside or the one inside
Besides, tormented I am, regardless.
Stumbling to find my path to happiness
I see glimpses of it, I imagine it vividly.
But chasing it is too painful, repeatedly
I question my self, who it really is?
Is it one or selves, me or my parents?
Who is suppressing whom?
Who is pleasing whom?
Who is giving up autonomy?
Who is taking away agency?
Who am I really, am I really my own?
Such are my nights, anxious and sorrow.