What’s It Like To Be Kind? Haiku

What’s it like to be
that kind and caring person?
She’ll never wonder.

Backstory: A Facebook post about a friend talked about how she was being kind and caring. As I was reading about what she’d done, this poem came to mind. I wondered what it would be like to be kind and caring, and realized that was probably something she never had to think about. She just IS that way. “Kindness begins with me.”

Don’t Save Your Breath: Revolutionary IMprov Prose

Through the years, I’ve had many friends, you included, who have told me positive things about me. They said kind, wonderful things, even when I argued with them, even when I didn’t believe them, even when it was obvious that I was exhausting them with my negativity and self-pity. They kept telling me wonderful thoughts:
I was good, I was smart, I was kind, I was important, I was intelligent, I was attractive, I was cute, I was an eccentric genius, someday I’d find my tribe and they’d get me.
and many other positive affirmations.
At the time these things were told me, I didn’t believe them. Sometimes I had to hear them many times, but finally I reached a place in my life where I realized that those things could be, might be, possibly may be, true. I accepted them, held on to them, carried them deep in my heart and my soul. They gave me hope. They prompted me and prodded me to keep trying, keep believing, keep hoping.
When I finally decided to take the leap out of self-pity and self-loathing, realizing that I could be someone worthwhile, the memory of all those positive comments came flooding back to me and substantiated me and reinforced me.

You face people who don’t believe you when you tell them how wonderful they are. It seems that you could repeat yourself until you are blue in the face, and they would never believe you. It seems like a waste of time.
So should you save your breath?
That fabulous, articulate, insightful, intelligent, kind breath?
No. Please no!

Where I Shall Not Go: Revolutionary Blogging Sonnet

Yellow-shirtied poet on a UTA Front Runner -- Orem Station Feb 2014I shall not, today, go to classes
where old men wittily incite the masses
to laugh, with fake spirituality,
at jokes too oft said inappropriately.
I shall not go later to dessert
with those who smile, but often hurt
with backstabbing comments and bad advice,
(thought they’re only guilty of trying to be nice.)
I shall write poetry instead;
allowing sweet muse to clear my head.
As the train’s gentle rhythm rocks me to and fro,
into the joy of my creative mind I shall go.
For it is there, when I’m most dazed and confused,
that I can find my kindest refuge.

Rewriting My Past Scripts: Revolutionary ConTEXTing Sonnet

If I stand
And demand
Certain acts,
Then take others to task,

How am I
The sort of guy
Who is in any way kind?
I am out of my mind.

I often can’t read
What others might need,
But when they misread me,
I pout, and spout anarchy.

It’s not fair nor right
To put others though this plight.