I cannot
count the ways
we white folx
have been played
have been maimed
by the same
things we thought
were for our gain.
We agreed
to the rules
and jumped
into the game
let it work
to our advantage
while ignoring
all our pain.
Instead of seeing smallness
as a part of being human
we treat our vulnerability
as a sign of being ruined.
Generations
of denial
of violence
of abuse
projection
became the style
brown folx
the excuse
the scapegoat for pain
the scapegoat for sin
the excuse to create hierarchies
then rig the game to "win."
Seeking comfort
we accepted
to live in houses
big as castles
now the norm's
to be indebted
our whole lives
like bankers' vassals
Now we toil
to survive
and to cope
develop habits
we watch our lives
floating by
yelling "freedom!"
as it passes
Two weeks of vacation
just to catch our breath
the other fifty spent in stress
hunched behind a desk.
On our children
we impose
the same rigid
directive
which they know
in their bones
to be oppressive
so they reject it.
Tell me, what are we left with
besides a hollow privilege
to "make it" on our own
while we leave behind our village?
Now we live in isolation
and we fester in our bubbles
desensitized and numb to all
the outside world's troubles
But as much as we seclude ourselves
we can't escape our pain
mass shootings and opioid addictions
make this plain.
We must turn toward our wounds.
We must tend to our wounds.
Too long our privilege blinded us;
now our destruction looms.
