It. I. One. Poem by Dan Medina

Struggle whispers to me constantly,
Its relentless tug,
Its drowning blanked.
Yet, Struggle and I dance.
We waltz to a morbid tango-
in step to life's beat.
And, like the vehement balance of cold and ice,
light and dark,
so is this ultimatum to exist in turmoil,
or vanish completely.
For Struggle and I have become one.
One in a hunger to dominate the other.
One in a quest to press forward.
One in an effort to fight until the end.
But to Struggle, I must appreciate.
Though hatred found, I have for it an odd love.
To it I owe who I am, who I have become.
It's constant tests, it's heavy weight,
molding this person, shaping these thoughts.
But can I ever be rid of Struggle?
There the choice is...
To fight and remain the person I am,
or to walk away and leave a shell of the person I once was?
For I and it are one, and without it,
I am none.