Here I Am

Do I despise those closest to?
My friends, my family, even you?

What is it that causes thee,
To speak with such clarity,

About me and my condition,
What I am, or its rendition?

Why, to me, is it not clear,
What I do to, my near and dear?

I am at war within my mind.
A war I’ve struggled to define.

For my means of thinking through,
Is skewed, perhaps corrupted too.

I lie, and say I’m powerless.
That’s my excuse for cowardice.

I dismiss and point my finger.
Three point back, to all that lingers.

This is on me, this very day.
Whether I act or look away.

Here with my mind’s infection.
I am offered an inflection.

Long as I avoid my riddle,
I’ll merely reach and flail and piddle.

My outward charge is seen as sin.
And I’ve refused to look within.

So, it’s a pattern that repeats.
It feels a lot like my defeat.

My quandary, my predicament.
I have grown quite sick of it.

But have I grown sick enough,
To criticize my wounded ruff?

To judge with my outside eyes,
At what’s inside and its despise?

At the riddle in my vault.
To break the chain, accept my faults.

To clean my room and rise above.
To give not less than all my love.

Without waiver, without condition.
Without a trace of inhibition.

I am not sure if I can.
So here I stay, and here I am.

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