She Says ...

She says I am angry at myself,
I am judging myself too hard –
That, she judges from my poem …
 
Maybe she’s right,
Cause I like to hold my mirror tight,
It’s not without giving in a lot of thought,
Can I sleep at night …
 
I am angry,
@ not being able to cry and breakdown,
@ not wishing 20 more years for my mom,
@ rubbishing my hope as a fool’s pomp,
@ accepting the boundaries of this world’s swamp …
 
@ being the centre of attraction,
@ not feeling like a complaining victim,
@ my inability to feel lost and broken …
 
But, why be angry, especially –
When my perception transcends the urges to judge,
When classification as good or ugly, isn’t necessary,
When both sides of the coin, I clearly see …  
 
Then, why be angry, especially when –
Lost is the compulsion to be perfect,
Lost is the necessity of hypocrisy,
Lost is the need to be reactionary,
Lost myself and found what’s needed to be free …
 
A mid-term death, another life afresh,
Accepting the dualities,
Bearing the weight of conscious conduct …
 
When the wheels are taken away,
Like a plane taking off a runway,
Shoulders do hurt as the wings sway,
Wings of responsible living take me far away …
 
Time for crawling and running is over,
It’s time for old patterns to die,
True, there are rules to be followed,
Even as I fly and puff,
But I’ll fly cause nothing else is enough …