I Won't Be Good (A Poem of Sorts)

I won't be good. Indeed, I can't be.

Some have assured me I'm not.

But kindness has texture. You can hold it.

Feel it. Cuddle it.

Generosity. She has tentacles

Tickling you from opposing angles.

And Gratitude. There's an aftertaste

Lingering long after digestion.

I won't be good. That's up to others,

A fingerprintless judgment.

Perhaps painting the town red

Is energy better spent. It stains.