You always feel out of place until you’ve become comfortable enough with discomfort
To shut the inner dissenters off
And contribute without fear of what you are or aren’t.
Hundreds of bodies got it told the way 200 level diversity class wouldn’t even touch in the Moodle.
Student Kale became a tool of dissent.
That entire two-story block got lit with repeated pyrocaust.
From the tiles to the walls, up the stairs and around the hatch, the words dripped longing.
“Fuck white supremacy.”
Chilling history of Jacksonian justified, indigenous decimation.
“Operation Wetback” showed us how often our cherished values became
Vehicles preserving the hubris of isolationism.
If that’s what we’re doomed to signify, I don’t want to be white.
My privilege is default validity, superimposed into the space of the
Bodies deemed hierarchally south.
The Irish only made it to the White Kids Table
cause they decided to hop in on the violence towards darker bodies.
We set the threshold of what paint swathe we could attack.
Any darker than this, and it’s the tire iron for ’em.
Redemption was a pledge to further the gap and violence to kids that we didn’t beget.
Money and status grew- insubstantial humans became the expectation, God forbid.
Those days have been reviled by those who mean their progressive title.
I want black power. Brown power, immigrant power, queer power, woman power.
Power to the poor, the hungry, the voiceless, disabled.
I want to recite the Beatitudes into global policy,
But my name is buried in legacy of opposing friction- oppression.
These two don’t have to be a toss-up,
Let alone the Catch-22 mental deathtrap so many many it out to be.
Fight with love. Fight with emotion. Keep compassion, empathy, and your objective at the forefront, and you’ll make it.
We’ll make it, and turn this place into a Sanctuary.