Am I good enough for you—
for the life we dream, for the days we’ve built?
Do the steps I take
make you proud,
make you happy,
make you feel at home?
Sometimes I wonder
if my hands have done enough,
if my words have been enough,
if my love has reached you
the way yours reaches me.
Do you ever carry quiet disappointment,
thinking I should have done more
for us—
for you and I?
I ache to give you
not just a life but a heaven,
not just a promise but a future.
Tell me:
When you look at me,
do you see someone
who is trying,
even when she stumbles?
Because every question I ask
is a prayer in disguise—
a hope
that I am,
at last,
enough