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.
Poetry for Change 