Houston I Have A Problem. Poem by Hardik Vaidya

Why should I compete with my self?
Way to go, Cmon, Atta boy,
Why should I throw punches in air?
Fighting my shadow.
Why do I have to be my own judge?
And be forced by my soul, to be extra tough.
Why do I always have to be my own executioner?
Ruthless, dedicated, the bastar rope, well knot.
Why do I have to be my own grave digger?
Perfectionist, pure and measured.
The world is nothing to me,
I have been my biggest enemy.