So sad that I am still afraid to be myself.
And who am I?
Who is this inside my skin?
Where do these thoughts come from?
Where do they live?
How do I release myself from myself?
How do I let go?
Am I able to let go of the criticism, the pain, the injustice, the secrets?
Am I ready to live in truth?
The soul seems so willing, but the body and mind is so weak.
I ramble, I stop. I pretend to be someone I am not.
Everyday attempt, attempt, attempt. Attempt to be her.
The one.
The one I'm supposed to be.
Destiny. Fate. Truth. I have doubts.
Secrets and lies they continue to plague me. So I push them further.
Back, back. Back behind the facade. The front. The fake.
I want out.
I want out of this nightmare. This half-world.
Is it me? Is it my fault?
Am I keeping her from breaking free? Rising to the surface?
To dream. To love. Do I believe that?
Does she believe that?
Am I worthy of more? Worth.
Again, I pause, I stop.
And still there is no answer.
Silence.
Tiffani C. Powell
Copyright May 2000
**my first poem**
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