Vice Versa

My own impatience
With my own impatience is
Another trouble

Why am I annoyed
That I am annoyed, as if
I could not be me?

Might I be marble
To my own chisel and find
Someone else inside?

I have stumbled on
My mother’s deep disconnect
How she wasn’t her…

Such deep discontent
As to refuse her contents
And disown herself…

To live masquerade
Where pride and shame, twin needles,
Tailor her false gown…

Early intimate
The pain of neglect made choice
Of lasting exile…

Maybe so or not
I keep tripping on the can
Of can’t, vice versa!