By Tanya Rampal
Am I a good person?
I often asked myself,
for my morality was no white knight,
nor a virgin bride.
I lived in muddy greys,
a little dirty—
but mine.
I observed, let it all sink in,
observed again until I understood.
My understandings stayed incomplete,
sometimes unsettling,
a little unconventional,
but still mine.
They bore my mind,
my heart,
my soul.
I told myself: my morality is NOT the Morality—
and that’s okay.
I was confused at times, sad even,
yet I felt like a being beyond archetypes.
I was comfortable in my discomforts
because they were mine.
But soon my morality was not mine alone.
It got tangled with that of important men—
important to themselves,
important to me even.
Well-meaning, they said now that I was tied to them
I must work on myself.
And so I journeyed through self-help
and came out bearing a performative Morality. The Morality.
They loved me now;
I reflected well on them.
I felt more comfortable,
my world a stark white
bright enough to hurt my eyes.
I was no longer confused—
but I was no longer all mine,
I was uncomfortable
in this comfort that was not mine.