Good Day


On a good day,
I think about how little you loved me
and how much I loved you,
and I feel only gratitude
for having known you at all.

On a good day,
there is no intestine
twisting shame
in having been,
and possibly continuing to be,
unloveable;
only the clarity of a still lake,
a perfect reflection,
a tender quiet,
a cool breeze,
peace, and
me.

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This entry was posted in Mental Health, poetry, Thoughts on Life and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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