Being Good

Being Good
I wanted so badly
to be good, to have beauty and to be loved.
I wanted to hold the whole world
like it was an egg and kiss it
a little bit and whisper things,
nursery rhymes and dirty jokes and the recipe
for the scones my grandma used to make.
Mine was sadness without a manhole cover.
It dragged me to places
where men spoke in isosceles triangles,
and I couldn’t believe that they were human
like I was human like they were human,
but there we all were, so it must have been true.
There were so many things I wanted back then,
answers, answers, answers and to never
be lonely and to always have enough to eat.
I wanted to be an angel with wings made from staples
and soup can labels. I wanted to be understood in a way
that no one is understood.
I brushed my teeth and flossed my teeth and brushed my teeth
every day. I tried so hard to be good.

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