Me is a passive victim.
Seeing others merely as obstacles,
restrictive barriers in life.
Never taking courage,
silently accepting blame of others,
claiming it’s just polite.
Myself is the average.
His voice is only heard with the crowd
he complies as a convenience.
When alone, he hides away
from the movement he once followed.
He receives no accolades for conformity.
I is reality.
The decision maker that becomes
everything that matters.
Not bothering with any charity
when it is beyond practicality.
I realizes what must be done
and is not afraid.

They all sit together, spaced
around a shapeless oak table;
its figure warped by time.
Me patiently endures the discomfort,
only wishing for things to go smoothly.
As for Myself, I seems frightening at times,
when his opinion strays from neutrality.
I is pleased by their submissiveness,
for he can speak his thoughts
unbroken by their silent views.

Me, Myself, and I
Looking at each other across the table,
they will make their judgements
but never see themselves.