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Dear Diary,

As the keeper of my secrets,

I need to confess my troubles.

I run around trying to please everyone And seem to end up alone!

As if by indulging others’ needs before mine,

I relegate my own happiness into a dark mine.

In it, the gloominess of the ambience

Is oppressive, comfortless, and has no patience.

As I squabble with my inner demons,

And my supererogation drowns my angels’ voices,

I notice that angels are a happy lot,

Who empower the self and never forgot

That there’s a price to pay for sacrificing For others, but it doesn’t need to be self-defeating.

No, no, no, and once more, no!

By helping others, you aren’t weak to

Assert your endowments to achieve

Your wishes without being demeaning,

Rather, you can help others believe

Not only in themselves, but in You.

By Malakkc

I'm a Canadian whose life has been interesting as I've lived in Developing countries and here. The contrast of law, order, and amenities available to us Canadians (which we take for granted, sometimes) to war torn civil wars is enormous. It leaves an influence upon the soul that cries out for justice. My poetry and writing reflect that and more.

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