People tell me that I’m too nice.
Well I’m sorry that somewhere along the line of the run-ins with the addicts, the hustlers, the future gang-bangers and the kleptomaniacs
I decided to listen to my parents and do what is right.
Punish me for holding the door open for as many ladies as possible, regardless of whether or not they are my type.
It’s my fault that I would rather enjoy an intellectual conversation with a woman than objectify her.
I’m wrong to look for the good in everyone around me, constantly trying to find qualities about them that reflect the light I see in this world.
I regret that I lack the ego to show off at every conceivable instance to attract the momentary attention of a woman that I will probably never talk to in my life.
Curse me that I would rather see my loved ones happy than walk all over them to satisfy myself.
My apologizes for finally understanding that my parents were raising me to be a gentleman and not a thug, a brute, or an angry black man from the depths of America’s projects.
You know: the ones that people neither want to visit nor talk about in everyday conversation unless it’s about the crime rates.
I’m sorry for being so nice.
Do you want me to stop?

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