At War with Myself
There is no winning
in this war with myself
Weapons drawn from every direction
gun loaded
bows ready
waiting, just waiting
I stand between them
broken and torn
role-playing the target
and the executioner
A part of me will die
and I must do the honors
but I can’t
for I always see both sides
And so I remain there, in the middle
stagnant in growth
and drowning in indecision
while the world moves on without me
There is no winning
in this war with myself.
This poem is about:
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: