It’s the same thing, to some.
It’s a joke that you can…maybe, be
let in on:
I used to see it as something harmful,
Painting ourselves all with the same brush,
feeding into their narrative.
I see it differently now,
A juvenile middle finger up,
followed by a hushed group giggle,
against a system that never was for
(About a personal experience, channelling hurt and frustration over a fall-out with a close friend around white privilege and understanding of BLM)
You snap like,
a sliver of glass forced to bend between two fingers.
broke so easily.
You erupt at the compromise of your
age-fortified, ivory defences.
Gather and launch spears from on high,
aimlessly wounding those below in your panic.
Your towers rise as,
high as shrill screams in perplexed horror.
Retreat seeking comfort in what you’ve always known,
the warmth of ignorance guides to closed blinds.
You weep in the dark while
daggers still soar out through your crenels.
Re-puncture the already dead,
a drop of your blood is worth the ceaseless labouring of…theirs.
Yet all of this
when I only threw a pebble.
I believed that arms above
would have lowered at the realisation of me,
tossing a pebble rather than
hurling a boulder.
I did not know that such fragile walls were made of