In the depth of night

I could not sleep,
For thoughts I can neither process nor ignore
Prick the tender bruise of my soul.
Dreams of trying my best
Like cloth stretched too thin over goose-pimpled skin;
The clutching hands pulling more and more
Over its trembling freezing body
Only making the cloth thinner
And less effective against the frigid air.
How to let go, do less,
When already it feels like you are never enough?
How, when in the depth of night,
Sleep disrupted by dreams,
You wonder if you do everything you can to be good
To make up for your inherent anger,
To give you license when the torrent inevitably bursts the banks.
When did you learn that anger
Is the only way to be heard when
No one is listening?
When did you learn that your anger
Made you flawed beyond forgiveness?
No wonder what you do is never enough.
No wonder you struggle to exhale.

Even now, you wonder if
Your goodness
Is really goodness
Or is it attempts to compensate
For your badness?
When will you know 
That you are Love?