Admitting who I really am ... why is it so painful?

Do I like who I pretend to be ... more than I like me?

Seems that somewhere in the past ... I “made” myself faithful

to him who I wished to be ... to set myself “free”.

No turning on the way I choose ... it’s a one way infusion.

No chance to touch the self  ... I left so far behind.

The one I lost somewhere ... in the dessert of confusion

the true self I need to be ... I did not pay it mind.

Now I meet the one I was ... deep in my own children.

The one I did not like before ... and I appreciate now.

Even though it appears to me ... that they are so different.

I just hope and pray ... that they won’t leave self somehow.

Often the past appears ... when I cross the fences

to get to a private place ... where I have no right to be.

I tear my clothes and skin ... under false pretenses

to justify me being there ... I am a fool indeed.

When I hurt and feel the loss ... of what I have done to self.

I blame everyone but me ... for the predicament I’m in.

In thought and word I then condemn ... placing ashes on a shelf

of them that got burned by me ... in the inner battle I can’t win.

Justified by my own blindness ... I lick my self-inflicted wounds.

My blood tastes sweet in satisfaction ... that I got even with my world.

It feels so good to rule my life ... out of my self-made tomb

and justify my desires ... increasing my treasure of faux pearls.

Jan Wienen