My imperfection suits me perfectly. It may mean connections with others are short-lived, but even when our worlds diverge it is in peace. My kindness is a double-ended barrel. Thus I am wounded by my own graciousness. But I am no victim. Just an alien in a world so accustomed to cruelty it cannot digest generosity without being greedy. My charge is not to be less forgiving, but to be more guarded of my joy. Face value is worthless, and certainly not worth my joy. I will be more careful to protect it from the spiteful with their promises broken as easily as withered branches in a wind gust. My dreams, my happiness, my self will not be compromised by their insecurities. They who see my kindness not as a treasure but as a constitutional right. I will aim more carefully. I will not give the cruel enough benefit to doubt their intent.