Guilt (i.e. just a shitty little poem)

i would like to be many things
but not a martyr me
still along with everything
i am a martyr, see
i do what i must
what i must is too much
no good way
it's do, or bust
i bust, i do, and cry, too-
ugly snot
my husband comforts me
(a lot)
i'm not good enough
for any of this
the challenges here
i'm not
enough yet i'm all there is
clear?
so what do i do when
i do what i must 
yet i do it so coarsely
and flailing?
the faces of my beloveds
floating on the horizon
of this leaking boat
that i am sailing.
where is time when
there is no time
look, take the bones
slide off your feet
in between the atoms
of meat
further still, beyond
what is and what could be
the tiniest me
of me.
if i am careful with her
keep her fed and warm and slept
she might be the me 
that is free
to be the me that i once met.