Kindness is my battle scar

Kindness is like a razor;

and yet like blood it tries to remain compact,

denser than water but nevertheless it spills and overflows.

Kindness can be rust,

it clings to little metal pieces that we try to hide,

knowing simply that these ions need a friend.

No matter which,

kindness is not as easily given as it is taken.

We can drown in these emotions,

or it is drained from our being,

like giving out pieces of our souls to others with the promise of a future together,

even if it's just for a little while.

It's easy to take for granted the caring gift of a friend,

they smile and you smile back.

That isn't all though,

because it's even harder to be genuine.

To give without the expectation of a favor,

knowing full well they grab what they can like desert animals in a long term drought.

Yet,

those who are given love will grin and dance to a tune of joy,

and those who gave that love out will bear it;

as the gifter their bodies are covered in wounds from large slashes to tiny nicks, and bullet holes.

That is what every receiver does, they cut out pieces of you,

because that is what kindness really is;

it's a sacrifice of yourself to not only help someone else,

but a proof that we can still make it through alive,

because we're strong enough to rip ourselves to pieces and continue on as though we're whole.