I remember when I was a really good person.
I was young and naïve and shy and quiet and on the outside I was a really good person.
My thoughts were marred with sly comments and extensive eye-rolls
But I was a really good person.
When I overcame adolescence I realized that maybe I was good but I wasn't honest
When I saw something that displeased me my mouth jogged faster than my conscience
and my regret had no legs.
I still had my values and my morals and my ethics
I had no tolerance for intolerance and no patience for those who found solace in other people’s shame
Notice how I didn’t say religion.
I reached a stage where I heard nothing but questions I could not find the answer to so my thoughts strayed and sleep was more important and verses were to be memorized not applied
And for that I was not a good person
I was angry with myself because my mind waged war with my spirit and I did not feel shame but I felt fear for what would come after this life
if I’m even alive
And for that I was not a good person
I hoped that who I wished I was compensated for who I really was so I kept on and I read books I should not have read and sang words that combined into a melody of myself and the world
And I was a person