I sacrificed my body,
To throw myself into study,
And though I can not regret where it brought me,
In honesty 
The destination is but bittersweet.
This is the honest poem. Yes,
Where I admit to jealousy 
and teeth
clenched in rage
That I am made to feel less 
On the outside somehow.
When I am but me, encaged.

My self worth is steady,
Facing declining external respect
and ... continuous neglect.
Yet,
Why should this be?
That others now look down on me?
Here but temporarily,
(I will return to the outside me)
Still, trapped in superficiality
Loosing this or that he
Because my goals before me
are mental
and physical
sometimes is left behind.
This is the honest poem. Yes,
My chant, my song.
I am not yet strong.
I care that no longer,
Am I seen by the world as what I was.

...

*Pause to reflect here,
Hand propping my chin as I think and search.*
Is truth, as I believe it
Righteous Anger? For Misunderstood Worth?
Or do I yet play the game? 
Am I less within me for without?
NO.
Please Lord, make it not so.