Doing Good

People don’t tend to see me as a “hero”.

I’m quiet.

I’m weak.

I’m dumb.

I’m selfish.

​

Of course, I get compliments.

Adults who can’t seem rude.

“So smart.”

“So beautiful.”

“So opinionated.”

None of which ring true.

​

I also get insults.

Kids who don’t appreciate outsiders.

“Weirdo!”

“Freak show!”

“Brat!”

Those don’t ring quite true, either.

​

No one has ever called me kind.

Compassionate.

Empathetic.

​

Why is that?

​

Of course, they don’t know about me.

That I raise helpless insects.

That I sneak out to help the homeless.

That I spend late nights comforting scared little siblings.

That I wake up early to study to please my parents.

That I walk the halls at school everyday, telling off bullies.

​

They don’t know because,

more often than not,

people do good for a reason.

For attention.

Because they are loud.

And strong.

And smart.

And “selfless”.

​

I suppose I have a reason for what I do, too.

It makes me happy.

Doing good makes me feel powerful.

It makes others feel just a little bit of joy.

And that is enough.

​

Feedback 1: https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/w6ae7h/purpose_of_man/

Feedback 2: https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/comments/w6g1ey/the_crutch_of_words/