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.
