My own lesser selves

I knew it true at surface

that the failings we accuse

are the failings of self.

And yet, I did not know.

It has penetrated that glossy,

hard enamel of defence:

the persona - cultivated and curated -

and begins to seep to the core.

All the harms that enraged me

I find threaded through my life

- not as recipient, victim, innocent -

but as actor, wielder, perpetrator.

I find, instead of surprise,

that I am resigned, relieved

to reveal myself to myself,

to find my own lesser selves.

That burden of pretence

- so wilfully ignored, so lovingly tended -

a twisted neck, an uneven walk,

shoulder taut under an invisible yoke.

And now that I observe

how I failed, how I harmed

I see that the fatally wounded

is me.