Listless, Lifeless, Longing

Who am I?
Who is the soul that occupies this vessel of self-loathing?

Am I what the world sees?
The two-dimensional figurehead offered as a sacrifice of protection?

Am I merely the sum of my good deeds
The impact I leave, the change I create.
Or am I so ignorant as to think I have an impact on the world.

Am I the face in the mirror reflected back at me?
The shadow always lurking a step behind, holding all of my darkness, waiting to pounce the moment my walls drop.

Am I the little girl cowering in the corner, unequipped to face a life outside of her childhood hovel?
The little girl destined for a life of misery and poverty and abuse and emotional detachment.

Am I simply the void left behind by incessant negativity and doubt and anxiety?
The echoing chasm, still and silent, beckoning me with every heartbeat.

It whispers and it screams.
It breathes my name and haunts my dreams.
I feel it's pull- it's call- like a tether.
Like a noose tightening and tightening until I can no longer breathe.

Until I am no longer a figurehead or an impact or a shadow. No longer the little girl crying out for love.

I am the void. And the void is me.