Why I Am What I Am?
Why I Am What I Am?


A metaphor to pain and agony,
A silence amidst thunderous roars,
Mirroring the subliminal hypocrisy,
Present in these folk lores.
Seeking out with open palms,
With parched throat and moist eyes,
Standing tall with aplomb,
Sifting through words, for lies.
Maybe I was made this way,
In dichotomy of living yet dying,
To not to be emotionally depraved,
I am failing, yet I am trying.
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When will you be yourself?
Unanswered this question remains,
When will I face myself?
Deafening, the answer to it pertains.
From the struggle to find and not being lost,
To the fight to survive at any cost,
From being able to rise from my hinds and walk,
To unsealing my lips and being able to talk,
I have lost me,
And these memories together into one another crammed,
Asking me time and again,
Why I am what I am?