my professor made me stand up in class one day
he asked me,
"who are you?"

and for a moment i went blank
who am i?

"you're a lawyer."
"you're a psychologist?!"
"you're a teacher."
from my relatives, i heard.
but i kept running through my mind
it wasn't me.

"you're a ****."
"you're always scared."
"you're very skeptical."
"you're an activist."
"you're so pessimistic."
in the familiar voice of my best friends
but still is this me?
am i really all of that?

"you're a heartbreaker."
"you hurt me."
"you don't even care."
in the voices of ex-lovers, they yelled at me.
i kept running

wHy aRe tHeRe sO mAnY vErSiOnS oF mE?

i asked god for an answer
but the crucifix just stared back at me
in the voice of silence

**** I STILL DON'T KNOW WHO AM I!

but i looked at the mirror
it was right across the room
and i saw it
i saw the answer.

i took a deep breath and looked at my professor
and with confidence i told him
"i'm a lawyer.
i'm not just a psychologist.
i'm a professor.
i don't have a preference therefore i'm a ****.
i'm not scared or depressed, i'm just a realist.
i haven't found the one, apparently.
but, all in all,
i'm a bundle of everyone's perception
i am myself."
and i smiled at him
while he smiled at me back as he nodded slowly.

and after 18 years did i realize who i was
i was myself
and i was at peace with that

you are the eighth cigarette from my pack of marlboro lights i lit at 10:34pm
you are the fifth shot of whiskey i drink at a saturday night, alone
you are the chest and liver pains i no longer feel the sunday after
you are my metaphor for stockholm syndrome

you are the reason that i know how to type properly at midnight as the world around me spins ever-so fast
you are the reason why i mastered the art of scrolling through instagram without liking your post from six months ago
you are the reason every episode i had becomes less painful than before
you are the reason i no longer feel any pain from before
because i know you still keep me captive in you

it may be the mild psychosis caused by the eighth whiskey last weekend talking but i know you
you always come back for me
you always know how to keep me wanting more
you know just how to lure me back
even if you don't do anything
i keep running back to you

but now, as i puff the last cigarette and drink the remaining drops from my bottle of whiskey
i realize now that you are my stockholm syndrome

the myth tells a story of an unnamed angel
whose wings were shaped from elegance and luxury
with feathers as soft as a cumulus cloud
and accomplishes a graceful and majestic flight

her beauty was often compared to a goddess
for her beauty radiates both from the inside and the outside
her skin was as white as snow
ever so flawless; no blemishes can be found

a vast amount of men came as suitors
with offerings of meat, songs, and wealth
but only one succeeded
a mighty man from the outskirts
whose physique were as of a god
with charisma that stabs like a knife
and a promise of a beautiful life was all he carried

and with a soliloquy, he made her his wife
and onto the outskirts they lived

though the angel was a beauty,
her love story was not

the man grew old and tired of their love
he wanted someone new
so he made a woman out of her.

he tore off her wings with his muscular hands
with varicose veins visible even at glance
he made love to her like it was the first time
but no love was made on the kisses and touches he gave

her beauty was never seen
she became the woman he wanted
she was no longer the angel anyone adored

she hid her wings on cloths of color and lived off as his wife
no longer carrying the title of an angel
her beauty no longer radiates
for she kept it in
for her safety
for him
and for the sake of an illusion

the illusion where she knows he'll come back
the man he actually loves
but as time flew by, he never came back

she lived with a beast inevitable from escape
for she let him tore off her wings so she may never fly again.

1) Why is it that every time i try to leave my body are also the times you emphasize the little things that don't really matter to me?

It'll be days where I'll hear you whisper to me things like:
"No one's gonna call or text you."
"Your wallet is nothing more than a hollow shell of an accessory that makes you feel like an adult."
"Everything you have right now will mean nothing to anyone because the successes you've had were meaningless to begin with."

2) Why are you such a hypocrite?

You've always reminded me that I have friends that look out for me but days later, you take it back and tell me that no one loves me.

You've always reminded me to keep my phone and wallet at the pockets of my pants because it's more worthy than myself yet days later, you tell me these are my most useless possessions

You've always reminded me to study hard and challenge myself everyday yet this whole time you remind me that once I disappear, so will everything I worked for.

3) Do you want me to go or do you want me to stay?

I can sense you're helpless without me. You always want me to help you find your phone or your wallet because no one else will. You want me to help you become literate for the sake of just being literate.

But from all the help that I do, all I get are your sadistic paybacks. You torment me in ways that I feel manipulated, helpless, and weak.

4) You're so powerful yet why do you need me?

You can just pick up that ringing phone with 3 notifications from my friends asking me "What's wrong?".

You can just read that book about theories all by yourself.

You can get the paper on your wallet that has "Do not cut yourself" written in it.

You can do anything without me. yet...

5) Why do you always remind me that things will get better but as I get older, it only gets worse?