not finished yet

 

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Kindness is an act of benevolence. So if being kind is one of the purest forms of altruism, why am I afraid? We’ve been conditioned to distrust from as early as our ability to comprehend and respond. Don’t talk to strangers they said, use the buddy system we were told. I find the line of wisdom and extravagant love is hard to walk, and often break every rule to satiate the latter. How could someone who possesses the same structural beating heart as I, have the [potential] culpability to commit such evil and heinous acts? In seven days a baby is shot in the face, an armed robbery is committed at a cemetery and someone is brutally beaten up at a Church, yet this is the same city I am struggling to love. How can I live within such close proximity to blood and mire, yet not see it face to face. Maybe I have looked you in your eyes as you have passed by me, not knowing the demons behind your irises. Maybe we shared an awkward stop light, where I couldn’t see through your darkly tinted windows. Shiny rims and flashy cars are like souped up taxis speeding through town delivering toxic delicacies. Day after day injustices plague our city and I know full and well I’ll have to risk my life to make a difference. For now, I’ll be curt when you stare a little too long as I try to figure if you will harm me or are stuttering because you are more like me than someone with bad intentions. I’ll cautiously and discretely size you up because I’m a female I instinctively distrust men for good reason. But know, the soul on fire within me wants to extend my hand and believe the absolute best in you regardless, bottom line.

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