On the floor, I stare at the ceiling
and think about what I’m missing
I focus on a smudge on the plaster
hoping it will reveal something to me
Unfinished things, half alive, rush through my mind 
as I rifle through waste to stay above water
There are those willing to reconcile something ugly in themselves,
something that hates the world
You see it sometimes 
In campaign speeches
and celebrations of death 
In adult video comment sections 
and in the shifting of blame
Their honesty makes me question its value
I am a good person, I say,
Afraid to live up to my own words
With the expectation to be who I claim to be
Blocking the way
There is always a gap 
between who we think we are
and who we actually are
either we love ourselves too much
to see its distance
 or not enough