At War with Myself

There is no winning 

in this war with myself

 

Weapons drawn from every direction

gun loaded

bows ready

waiting, just waiting

 

I stand between them

broken and torn

role-playing the target

and the executioner

 

A part of me will die

and I must do the honors

but I can’t

for I always see both sides

 

And so I remain there, in the middle

stagnant in growth 

and drowning in indecision

while the world moves on without me

 

There is no winning

in this war with myself.

This poem is about: 
Me
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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