There is always a conversation in my head. Sometimes more than one. Often I hear my mother’s voice, other times that of my father. Mostly it is just me. I am always ready to call myself names, to diminish my achievements, to call myself fat and ugly, and even dumb. Deep down I know I am not these things, but for some reason I do this, and then I do not like myself! This is not good because I am always with myself, trapped in my skull I am, forever conversing with someone who claims to know who I am and what I need. Well I do not know totally who I am, and I am not convinced I know what I want. Wanting money, happiness and freedom is not what I mean. What do I want to believe, what do I want to commit myself to, what do I want to learn and experience, who do I want to become, what do I want to grow into. What is my purpose? Who am I? Until I know I will tell myself the answers in my head, so it is best to make peace with myself so we can get along, and then maybe our conversations will lead to real answers? I don’t know if this will happen. I will ask myself!

I'll never forget the day we first met,
it was gloomy, windy, grey and wet.
From the start of this feuding friendship
I knew something about you was always glib.

You feel more fiend than friend,
often leaving my mind tattered and rent.
You amend my thoughts without my consent,
leaving me spent after actions not meant.

When you mock me in the morning mirror
and sadistically snicker your hold deeper,
my demure grow bigger and trigger an awful rigor 
when I see that I am my own heartless judge.

To triumph over thought wrought with doubt
I cannot be proud and must strive to find the clout
to learn who I am and what I really want,
and a friend to myself vow to become.