If only
she knew that being kind is not always good
her back is always arched
the cold bumps of her spine protruding
a hard foot presses against the bone
pain spikes and churns inside
as others step and rise
further up in their lives
If she hadn't been weak-hearted
She would have stolen courage from the restless tiger
so that hunters do not approach her easily
but tremble with fear at the sound of her roar
no longer is she a kite
flung from place to place with the wind
but a boulder
heavy and cold
She shall peel open all the people
see how rotten they are inside
no longer will she cry over those who are worthless
obsess over those with power and popularity
but she shall wipe her own tears
and choose to walk forward
alone
but stronger than before.
