Ego Talkin’
By Moe’na Canada
Second Place Winner of the 2025 Poetry Award (tied)
I hold my tongue like a sniper,
real still. My ego, tuggin’ strings like
a puppet master as
I pull the trigger with skill.
My words expressed sharp
like bullet punctures,
my capacity to vent
cordially writhes like a car
with busted tires. But
that is tiring; cause
a sniper is heavy, so it gets hard
to steady and sometimes
I aim at the wrong person.
Exposing a version of
my many qualities I
didn’t want them to see,
draped by the
weight of guilt because the
wise version of me
was inaudible against my pain.
My ego, like a parasite,
touring through my
veins. She had full control
over how I perceived things, she sings
deceiving melodies, compelling me
to this miserable mentality.
Until the day I find myself dwelling
in tears without a soul to aim at but
my reflection in the mirror, conflicted
on whether or not I should disappear.
So I picked up a pen, and
turned my passion
into poems.
Although I held resentment
towards the ego hence the torn
peaces of my dignity,
I was told to make sure
my ego doesn’t go foreign,
because she’s not my enemy.
Whether I handle things
civilly is based upon how free
I let my ego be.
So while I expertly write
my remedy like poetry I hope…
fully that every line sends goose
bumps up your skin.
‘Cause now, when a conflict
presents itself onto this
pathway I walk on called life, I regulate
my emotions with a pen.