There seems to be a problem, you see
some time ago, I think a part of me
became split with a serrated edge
of a blade, and the pieces got thrown
off a skyscrapers’ top floor, into
the throes of a rampaging storm.
Each of me, now a different thing,
calls out, bidding something the
other me will turn its form away from,
with what I imagine to be puckering lips,
painted in purple vituperation. Ignore it, and
it will throw a dogged tantrum out of this world;
pinching and pounding and screaming
just until I get weak and decide to give in,
but then the other you or rather me, gets
unhappy too, so what is it I am meant to do?
Who is it I am, which piece is more me?
Who do I placate and who gets to speak?
I command you tell me now because I’ll be
damned if I knew myself well enough
to figure this little quandary out, within
the limits of an appropriate set of time.
Please be a love, and help
a desperate soul out?
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Reader insights
Outstanding
Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!
Top insights
Eye opening
Niche topic & fresh perspectives
Heartfelt and relatable
The story invoked strong personal emotions
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