The few years I had bad bones in my body are years I regret. But maybe bones shed like snake skin does and the bad bones withered away. I pride myself on being a good person - people know it and feel safe with telling me their problems without uttering a word to anybody else. But I still worry if I'm good enough to be considered a good person. If I said it, then I am a good person, right? Is it enough though? I'm not so sure.
Just another day in anxiety land. Thank goodness my thoughts are better represented in poem than they are in regular writing.