Marking my worth[lessness]
by defacing my template
with the corroded hands of others
who spend their time chiseling away at
life’s most imperfect perfections
  Embroidered with a cross stitch
ravelling us all together in one big quilt
showcasing one’s collected patches

Finding myself unable to convey
my lack of conversation skills
or the assumptions that I already know
and everything I could do is better than this
and I deserve better than this--
what I choose to accept
will never meet my own standards
as my standards are based on accepting others
but my other side lives in a fantasy
and believes what genuine souls tell me
which is I “deserve better than this”

Maybe I don’t, in a parallel universe
I can’t accept what I want to believe
because I can’t explain why I accept
   “less than I deserve”
when I’m unsure of what I deserve in the first place
What deeds have I done to merit great things?
Is my moral compass pointing north or south, east or west?
Does it matter when each way leads to eternal rest?