Hidden Pain

 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.