Emotion,
This schizophrenic disparity of voices within my head.
No, it wasn’t direct mental instability,
But it was the futility of fighting against what those voices said.

Relentless,
These voices would bend and crease the mood and persona that resided within me,
And ultimately, shape who I am.
A shape that so governed the institution of my mental reverie.

Broken,
This shape so rigid and frozen, locked in place,
It felt like a box, an iron plated prism that blocked me from seeing the beauty of even a rainbow.
What seemed to be a stricture in the image of my selfhood lined with barbed lace.

Delusion,
I felt as if breaking this cage would bring upon me my deserved freedom,
But what I thought to be a liberty so justified was derived from chains I perceived to be sinister and controlling.
Once I broke free, I deconstructed into the shatters of my once rigid identity in fruitless tandem.

Epiphany,
I know now, the roots of my errors.
The denial of this rigid shaped formed by my emotion.
This manic symphony of anger, depression, and disappointment of which I was to be the bearer.

As a tree falls if it's uprooted, these voices are the foundation we are supported by.

These emotions, you see, constitute who I am.
My powerful polyphony was compromised with what I thought would be socially acceptable.
My individuality, stripped of its essence, has digressed onto a path that is so far from originality,
A broken record of what's left after my fall.

Its not that these emotions had confined me to a small, ever-shrinking box,
My rejection of my moral origin had defined this rigid shape.
Instead, I should have let the shape cover and envelope me, warm with the passions of joy,
Instead, I should have let the shape chill me to the core with the sadness I did not express,
Instead, I should have let the shape take my form, not my resistance.