Distress Torment

Part of me is independent yellow.
Content and quiet,
Thoughtful and energetic.
Playing in fake fantasies and molding imperfect realities.

But deep down there is another part.
An existential black, like a decaying skeleton sealed in endless amounts of closets.
Withdrawn and weary,
Caged and frightened.
Spiraling into repressed memories of the pain of not being good enough.

Both of these sides of me are very real,
One constricted, the other a mirage.