shed the pretense
This reflection has become smeared
by this dizzying metamorphosis.
The power struggle of the old and new
is keeping me awake at night.
It seems that I’m near my breaking point
yet I keep picking away at what I was
in hopes of what I could be.
From this midpoint
is this change really for the better?
It seems the more I work to simplify it
the more complications arise.
Each cure is but a symptom
of a new ailment to come.
As I’m fixing myself
I’m breaking the others…
I can bear no hate towards their response
their frustration with this change
that even I have yet to fully understand.
I don’t regret those things done
it’s not in my nature,
but I wish I could sever them from myself.
Sitting here alone
vulnerable to myself above all,
I wish these hands were not mine
I wish I could start this all anew
I wish I could shed the pretense.