“Why are people unkind?”
I asked in my 4-year-old little voice,
A little blonde girl with big blue eyes,
Who was afraid of cooties and boys.
“Why do people shove? Why are they mean?
What makes someone that way?”
My mama would rock me in her arms,
And wipe all my small tears away.
She told me that sometimes people cry,
Other people say mean words.
And she patted my back, telling me to still be kind,
No matter how many mean things I heard.
As a little girl, I figured out when hearts become cold,
People can forget how to be warm.
They lock away their feelings inside
And then erupt into rage like a storm.
She told me that people’s hearts get hurt,
So sometimes people hurt someone else.
And the older I got, the more I heard
The sad stories everyone had to tell.
And now I call my mom from college,
And ask, “Why are people unkind still?”
If we’re all grown up now and know that everyone’s hurting,
Why cant we be kind as we all climb up our own hill?