Jealous of Goodness
The sweetest sugar drips off every beautiful word. They are sincere, and would never think not to be. How could someone be so effortlessly kind?
I envy them, though I know I should not. Bitter jealousy won’t help me to be kinder. It corrupts the soul like mold spreads from berry to berry.
So, I try hard to be sweeter, kinder, better. Yet, the conscience effort makes it seem ingenue.
How can I be good if my goodness is as fragile, as fake as a breath of wind, too soft to be noticed? How can I be good if it takes me years to find words with the same sugary sweetness? How can I be good if no one can see my soul through this wishful facade?
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