We see what we want
Yet rarely chase it out of
Fear and long-standing despair
Never taking those random
Chances in life and love
That tend to spring up
As we battle our own
Inner demons and failures
Self-doubts abundant
Staggering thoughts
An angel on one shoulder
And a devil on the other
A perpetually confused mind.
Arguing with oneself is
Like arguing with a
Battered old suitcase
Tired and weary of the
Fight yet willing to carry
Our stories; it’s the
Will I won’t I, knowing
Desirable things come
When least we expect them
Depending on which
Shoulder we listen to.
