Good people

Being a good person came in all shapes and sizes:

But what a pity
She thought to herself
Handcuffed in domesticity
Of the mind, aware of
A past she is trying
To leave behind.

This is hard, he thinks
Where did I go wrong
To come home to
These accusatory glares
These hugs feel too tight
To care about my sanity
That I’m trying to balance
Against the cosmic flood
Of Human Emotion.

How can I?  they wonder
In the life that they’ve
Been living, a universe
Carved to perfection for
Their conscience, and
Their misery–it’s a bubble
They do not know, a fragility
They ought to deplore.


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