Often, I find myself thinking about how someone else must feel.
But too often that keeps truths hidden, unrevealed.
Do I really know what it means to be kind?

I value different walks of life.
But I have found it harder these days to balance that with my path, an internal strife.
Do I really know what it means to be accepting?

There are days I stay as quiet as a mouse.
But others I could fill a whole field with my shouts.
Do I really know what it means to have a voice?

Some days my actions show how much I would be willing to sacrifice for those I have loved.
But then I scream, asking why they couldn’t do the same when I treated some like blood.
Do I really know what it means to be unconditional?

Some mornings I wake up and see myself worthy of applause.
But sometimes those same afternoons are filled with these flaws.
This seems like it will always remain true.