A Poem: Units of Measure
Who puts it on me that I
am a white woman, should be
ever so silent on the points that
many others may scream to the sky
all injustices done in the name of
I see and cant have?
Me
Who puts it in my head that I
may not throw my fists to
duty in the name of a justice
never known and denied my
privileged white ass?
Me
Who stands in the night fucking air
as one lie after another
tucked down my throat upon
which I gag quietly so as not
to interrupt the righteously denied?
me.
One day last decade I stood with sisters,
among us the damn near dead tones
were so similar, the carbon smeared
our faces, drenched our hearts
we near smothered together,
there on hard cement
fight for your fucking rights or
have none, none to speak of, none to hear,
none to act on, imagine, or help your
get-the-hell-up-and-have-a-look place,
we all live. We all die.
It aint only the good who die young.
The white line, drawn on the road of
some American dream those uptight folk
wrapped in curly qued metal with codes,
direct their traffic to keep their children in,
safe.
Safe from the hordes of people who look
like poor, safe from want,
a wanting-it-so-bad that a poor white woman
will feel better than
a poor black woman,
a poor black woman
to feel better than a poor mexican,
a poor mexican to feel better
than a poor indian,
and here I am quiet in my
white ass privilege as
poor as anyone
feeling better than those other poor fucking people?
Tell me about feel good
tell me about feel anything
tell me about feelin some justice
some satisfaction, something.
And ill tell you how I feel about it.
It isnt true, all a lie feed to my tired ass self
when I cant remember
decade last I stood with people.
The I-know-what-the-hell-youre-talkin-about color
of rage, hues of disgust,
how dark is her hopeless,
a lighter shade of regret maybe?
a yellowing misplaced faith,
sodden exhaustion, all wet and heavy
polite passive excuse me but, palate of color.
The rainbow effect of change my mind
about who I am so you can see me.
The me- Siddles up close to the you of you.
Its where we know this one thing.
Poor is poor, and then theres all the rest
kinda moment, unity gives it up like
our own ex-periences of I got your back,
have mine, well walk this way so close
they wont know what hitem,
shoulder to shoulders, all the way up
American Dream Blvd.,
to I-aint-takin-no-more-devisive-bullshit Street,
where we live.
It just goes on and on, I know. Seems
like time to hold out those hands, open
the lines of communication, crack that code.
by Freebirdreaming
http://www.cerebralrising.net/2013/11/units-of-measure/ (seed)
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