Problematic Confessions

I have a problem, I confess.
It lies in the intrigued part of me;
intrigued by this world, how it works and the people that help it work.

I have a problem, I confess.
It lies in the questioning side of me;
questioning things as to why they are how they are and what makes them who or what they are.

I have a problem, I confess.
It lies in the affectionate side of me;
affectionate towards this world and its residents, affectionate towards those who do good to me and towards those who do bad to me.

I have a problem, I confess.
It lies in the musical side of me;
musical for edgy and upbeat music, musical for classical styles whether Hollywood or Bollywood.

I have a problem, I confess.
It lies in the artsy side of me;
artsy side where I write only when I’m hurt, click pictures only when I’m awed and paint only when I’m angered.

I have a problem, I confess.
It lies in the apologetic side of me;
apologetic side where I apologise for everything I say or do because I don’t want to offend you.

I have a problem, I confess.
It lies in the shielded side of me;
shielded side where I mock others as a form of self defence, shielded where I feel don’t feel the disgust I try to run away from.

I have a problem, I confess.
It lies in me;
me where I wonder if its the problems that lie within me or its the way I’m built;
because I’ve heard people aren’t built the same.
Maybe, perhaps, I’m just the beta version of an experiment on humans.
Oh, how I wonder but I have a problem, I confess.