I am my own tormentor.
I am my own healer.
It is I who create my own stabbing pain.
It is I who bathe myself in shame.
I am my own critic.
And yet my own advocate.
It is I who make amends
Of what I don’t know and of what I must learn;
So that I’d grow and be better, in return.
I am disreputable
And yet conscientious, at times.
I am a battle of the White and Black Wolf.
Tormented with the uncertainty.
Uneased of what might be.
I am a masochist.
And yet a pacifist with a cure.
I walk around with un-patched healing wounds,
Dreading that I might feed the catalyst of my internal war.