what about the ones who hold the doors

Where is my kindness?
I put it in my closet
I shut it in my drawer
I locked it in my chest.

Because what is nice?
It is a doormat
It is a weakling
It is a coward.

It won't win me any medals and
It won't gain me any fans but
I'll keep on trying to get by, so

 I've put away the glue
I've hidden all the staples
I've put down my tape and
started looking for some scissors.

They always watch the breakers
The ones who rip and rend
The ones who tear asunder
while ignoring those who mend

I've had enough of speaking up
I've had enough of speaking out
Why is it that the voice that matters
Has to be raised in a shout?