Goodness (Poem)

The stars say nothing.
But they trimmed me down,

And put nails in my back
Sanded my soul, and stained me with their ideals
Until I fit their shape of good.

But what if the wood that I am splinters?
What if I am only the pieces they put together?
Never seen as the whole?

I hold my power
Like a man might hold a prayer:
Desperate,
Trembling
And half-convinced it could save me

They called it anger

They called it rage
I named it grief
With nowhere to go.

I was a fool to think: 

Maybe light
Could still bloom in me,
Despite the rot that festered its way inside
So what if I am never good?

What if the fight was just a mirror
And I chose the face that stared back
Because it understood the ache?

Tell me—
Am I still worthy of love even if I am not good?
What if redemption is a story others tell about you?
But never offer it to you directly,
Do you still dare to hope?

Maybe love is not earned but endured.
Maybe being worthy is not about never falling—
But who you choose to become after the fall.