“How is it easy for you to be kind?”
I sigh. Smile with relief, then answer:
“I’ve known chaos growing up.”
For someone who’s been lied to,
you’d think poetry has to rhyme to be good.
Not all. Not the ordinary wounds.
Bullied for my hair color
by mates, grown men and women.
Brutal when mentors use you as the example so the other kids can laugh.
And yet, somehow, I’m still kind.
I’ve had a teacher pull me by the nose,
shove me down for a misspelled word, words I say freely now, calm, unlike then. Me, a crowd, chalk, and my enemy was the board.
How is it so easy to be kind?
I’ve watched death knock more than once.
Nearly crushed by a speeding car, running to my brother
I’d be a memory for the wind,
quiet in the darkness if the driver had no light in him.
So I kneel and say grace.
I’ve only known chaos.
I know what unkind does to your inner child.
So when they ask how it’s so easy to be kind,
I hope hope gets to answer
Because someone once, wasn't.
Apr 22
Apr 22, 2026 at 11:29 AM UTC
“How is it easy for you to be kind?”
I sigh. Smile with relief, then answer:
“I’ve known chaos growing up.”
For someone who’s been lied to,
you’d think poetry has to rhyme to be good.
Not all. Not the ordinary wounds.
Bullied for my hair color
by mates, grown men and women.
Brutal when mentors use you as the example so the other kids can laugh.
And yet, somehow, I’m still kind.
I’ve had a teacher pull me by the nose,
shove me down for a misspelled word, words I say freely now, calm, unlike then. Me, a crowd, chalk, and my enemy was the board.
How is it so easy to be kind?
I’ve watched death knock more than once.
Nearly crushed by a speeding car, running to my brother
I’d be a memory for the wind,
quiet in the darkness if the driver had no light in him.
So I kneel and say grace.
I’ve only known chaos.
I know what unkind does to your inner child.
So when they ask how it’s so easy to be kind,
I hope hope gets to answer
Because someone once, wasn't.
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