Quicksand.

A friend of mine by the name of Svojas once said 'We all start off on the same boat, without a paddle. Its up to you to take that risk and jump, slowly making your way to the bank. They might call you stupid, forget about them, at least you know where you're headed.' 

He was right.

Do you have the strength to swim out of Quicksand, though?

In the jungle, the mighty jungle:

He had come too far, walking by himself-
Only grasping on to the hanging vines and  branches that he called 'Friends'.
He had come too far, walking by himself-
Trying to find happiness on the way in the same roses that pierced the hands he held them with.

He had  come too far, camouflaging himself-
From the hungry beasts and treacherous birds of feather that flocked together.
He had come too far, camouflaging himself-
Trying to be someone he isn't, feigning pride in what he was trying to become.

He had come too far to see the Quicksand ahead of him.

One foot in, two feet in.
Legs in, torso in.
Up to his neck, in.
Only flailing arms above his head, waving like a white flag.

Now that he was in the Quicksand,
Stuck in sticky Conundrum-
The vines and branches were too far to reach.
The roses were too high up their stems, he could only grab at the thorns.

Now that he was in the Quicksand,
Barely breathing, drowning in Conundrum-
The cawing birds he'd wanted to be a part of, sung merrily of his fast-approaching demise,
And the hyenas he'd once tried to be a part of, stood by the edges of the quagmire baring their teeth.

He was moving too fast in the Quicksand,
Trying too hard to convince his Friends he was one of them.
He called out to the birds, he grabbed hard at the thorns;
He proffered himself to beasts staring at him hungrily, hoping for a miracle.

And then a miracle did come-
Realization.

He put down all he had on him,
Got out of the shoes that he'd been trying to put himself in for too long.
He began to relax and slowly,
He began to let go of his camouflage.

He began breathing,
And very slowly began moving forward.
He lay back and began slowly wading
Towards the muddy shores of the quagmire.

One arm out, two arms out.
Torso out, legs out.
Up to his toes, out.
Only his past self and all that he had carried were now left drowning in the Quicksand.

Epilogue:
In the jungle, the mighty jungle
He walks. 
He walks hand in hand with his new Friends, those who trust in him;
Those who hold his hand for who he really is. 
He's left the hyenas, thorns and vultures behind, 
He's left behind the ghosts of his past. 
Now in the jungle, the mighty jungle, 
He walks.