Alter Ego
My hands are not my own
When I stare down at them it is not my flesh that bleeds.
It is the skin of someone different entirely.
I've become an alter ego of sorts, wrestling with my anger until provoked by a whisper. This identity I carry is far beyond my control.
If I were to rid myself of it then I'd find myself all alone.
David RL Moore
Sat 30th Mar 2024 06:06
I see this is called alter ego and is relatable as such.
I am an atheist, that said the text and sentiment of this poem could relate to the Easter story of Christ. A vessel for the three in one, his father. Sacrificed for all, to find himself betrayed by a whispering disciple, alone. The ultimate altar ego.
Subtle work if intended.
David.