Every line of "My own" pairs a feeling with something that should belong to the speaker, yet nothing here feels like theirs in a comfortable way. Home is uncomfortable, skin is something to crawl under, and even the self is something to hurt. The word "own" repeats until it stops sounding like ownership and starts sounding like confinement.
The speaker seems stuck in a sense of being fake and boxed in. Itching "at my own mask" suggests they feel they're hiding behind a front, and the "cage" suggests they want out but can't get free. The word "complacent" stands out, because it hints that part of them has given up and settled into the situation. The speaker may be both the prisoner and the one who keeps the lock closed.
The final line, "Waiting / On my own future," leaves things hanging. There's no action, only waiting. The mood is restless, numb and quietly bleak, with a small, uncertain sense that something might still change.