kind is a mother.
kind comes in warm,
with no purpose other than itself.
kind is a pussy,
wide-eyed,
claws like talons.
kind has no idea what’s good for it.
kind can’t take a hint.
gentle hand on your shoulder,
porch light burning in the night.
insane, really,
how kind won’t quit
despite life daily offering up countless reasons to.
kind is paper
in a universe of rocks
and kind is not afraid of scissors.
the cool
underestimate
our kind, their craving.
we get them every time.