To Taunt Me

I yearn to reject the identification with pain.

I write about you,
Pain.
I write about you, then I am consumed by you. You suffocate me, taunt me.

You know I try.

Yet, you remind me I could be doing better.
I want to be released,
free your expectations,
free from your perceptions,
free from your desires,
free from your fears.
Is suffering absolute?

I grapple with the expectations of who I should be and what I should be doing. I feel contempt for who I am.
Why?
I struggle in being content with my destiny.
I am suffocating in the unrealistic expectations I set for myself.
I am not as bold as those I compare myself to.
I disappear in my pain.