The sad truth is that I am not sure
of who I am.
Caught between two worlds, I feel
chained,
unable to break free from ignorant
assumptions,
veiled in mysterious cultural
animosity.
Neglect of understanding how to
balance both surroundings,
pulling into directions that
stretch me like the points on a compass.
The navigational points force me
into an endless demented spiral down into nothingness.
Insomnia attacks my thoughts,
crumbling them into scattered
stones and rubble
upon the fragments of my
consciousness.
Like fallen rain, drops scatter in
a downfall collapse
as ideas of who I am tumble and
bend,
yielding into a sewer drain
overflowing
with thoughts of who I want to be.
A well with ancient walls surround
me as I try to grasp a hold,
my fingers and nails dig deep into
the fragile bricks,
as I try climbing to the top, only
to find myself back down in the pitiless dark abyss.
A fog overwhelms me as I try to be
all of who I am,
only to feel exhausted by the day’s
end.
As if my individualism is under
siege, I clutch to broken shadows,
tackling and resisting,
yet eventually I am defeated with
force by my ill-fated destiny.
I am only a traveler, foreigner to
the world I live in
and to the world everyone thinks I
belong to.
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