Poem: “Kindness, Accidentally,” Young Writers Project

I did not know kindness isn’t always loud,

not the grand gestures, not the

throw-the-coat-over-a-puddle,

because sometimes,

it is simply someone sitting on the ground

just because you did, even though

there’s a perfectly good chair

and they’re wearing white pants.

Sometimes,

it’s the way they swing your hand while

walking, no rhythm

just something they can’t help, or it’s the way

someone grabs your arm mid-laugh,

like the joke was too big for one body,

like joy needed somewhere else to go,

someone spinning while they’re waiting

for the microwave,

skipping stairs just to feel a second of flight,

swaying in the kitchen with you,

arms around your ribs, like there’s music

only you can hear.

It’s the breath someone takes at an open window,

like the sky said their name,

the way they pull their chair closer to yours,

not because they can’t hear you,

but because they want to,

someone waiting for your laugh before

they keep talking,

letting you hum, letting you be,

someone asking if you’re okay

when you’re crying on the phone

in the middle of the street,

reminding you you’re not invisible.

It’s no big deal, just a hundred tiny things

that say, I see you I see you I see you,

without making it a thing,

and maybe you don’t notice at first

maybe you’re still unlearning how to flinch –

but something in you

starts to relax

and suddenly,

you’re laughing with your whole body,

spinning in hallways,

breathing deeper at windows,

pulling your chair closer too.

Maybe that’s the point.

Maybe kindness isn’t the starring role –

just the reason

the story gets to keep going.