12.18.15

You lent me a book.
To you it was interesting to see
what it’s like to be black like me.
I hope you got a good glimpse
by scratching the surface
with your insight.
Perhaps now you understand
the latent anger,
impossible to right.
Perhaps now you understand the bother,
of being born into this world,
automatically inferior, an other.
Perhaps now you can grasp
why many of us feel trapped.

What you’ll never be able to get
are the little things,
moments that bring
a squint of the eye
or a kiss of the teeth
because “If I were white,
this would not be.”

Injustices a plenty,
if only you had eyes to see.
Ours have been trained
by cruelty’s consistency.