I think kindness for oneself might be one of the hardest things to find
I search for it deep in the elementary school desk of my mind
shoved with pencils and chapter books, gum and crawling things,
shame, embarrassment, blame in the hair elastics, doubt spilled all over
the cover of my notebooks
And when I'm lucky enough to find it I look away and it slips away again
Leaves me frantically searching my own reflection on the metro
sifting street puddles for compassion, studying slight
contortions of a stranger's face, or the way they hold their hands, or
someone else's
gentleness in all its forms a practice I can learn that I am always learning
the city's rush an unlearning I will never finish
can I meet myself over and over again with nothing but this abundance
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