Inside

It’s hard, isn’t it?

To be good.  To work on yourself.  To not judge.

To be patient and kind.

To always be thinking.

To second guess.  To fall down.

And get back up.

And hope that with every passing year you’re just that little bit better.

I hope, before I die, I am fixed.

That’s where I want to be.

I want to know the things I don’t know now.

I want to understand

And find peace.

Time and Tide

I’m trying to be kind to myself.

I’m a good person, but am I?

Sometimes I don’t care about other people’s shit.

But sometimes I really do.

I don’t steal or lie or hit.

But maybe one day I could.

Maybe one day I will lose it and lash out.

And then all the goodness will come undone.

What do good people do?

Do they give to charity?  Help old ladies across the street?

Do they knit scarves for homeless hamsters?

How many lives am I expected to live, to be able to fit in all the things I’m supposed to be doing?

There’s not enough time.  There never seems to be enough.

I’m running out.