Better By Iris Rosewater

She is an angel

(my better self)

She watches from the outside
In the inside
Of my head
And shows me
How she would have done it
Better

The control she would have kept
Over her emotions
During that argument

The perspective she will keep
Through the trials

She observes my mothering
And chides with righteous patience
That a glass of juice
Spilled on the floor
Is really not so terrible a thing
To happen

She disregards the build-up
Of juice cups spilled
And diapers
And directions gone unheeded

She lets each go
And starts fresh at every fiasco

She forgives
Everyone but me.

I have yet to learn
What her role is
In my life
If she were meant
To plague me
Or lift me up

But she feels a heavy burden
Teetering at the top of
The load I carry

Maybe she is not
My best self

Maybe she is inhuman
And I do myself
A disservice
Comparing the two of us
As if I were really
Capable
Of meeting
that measure of goodness.

Or…

Perhaps she is my true self
Whispering reminders

Buried under the shrapnel of guilt
I choose to bear
Rather than rising to the glory
Of what I was made
To become.