Blame

Because you pushed me, I wanted to get away.

You wanted me to be accountable. And I wanted to be free of all that conscience.

I wanted to be innocent of human suffering perpetuated from one to the other. 

But you exposed me to a different world.

A world where “my” people hurt “your” people by ignoring them,
deeming them inferior or out-right punishing and imprisoning them. 

But it wasn’t me who brutalized you. Even though perhaps my outlook and tone of voice reminded you of the people who could feign innocent because it was convenient and much prettier to think that way. Instead of looking how they subtly or wholeheartedly diminished you.

Every time we walked down the street, I felt how prejudice had knocked you down, wanted you to bleed, wanted you to believe that you were less-than, incapable and worthy of suspicion.

I knew that the world wouldn’t take the blame for the stirrings of anger in your belly, and how you had to drown it out through liquid fire as your only way of coping from living around people who never cared to ask deeper how you’re really doing.

And I got the luxury of being the one to walk with you, turning people’s eyes to disdain and disgust. Who would ever believe that God was a loving one in the world of the white people?

But I believed in you. Your heart. Your compassionate values to live in a way that knew it was important to give back to others. To carry your burdens of memories of having lived amongst disrespect and disintegration, from a world that rather would’ve seen you die and go away. Especially someone as vocal as you. Your voice strong and warm and courageous enough to be willing to take a stand against heartless people who like to deny their collective involvement in acts of pure judgment and greed. 

Even though I left, thinking I could reclaim the part of me that just didn’t want to know where it all began, your heart haunts me with a knowing of what matters and is true.  I can’t get away from you, your being embodied in me forever.  My spirit always walking with a knowing of who’s a pretentious fake and who’s genuinely care-taking.

At night I cradle your soul, reminded by your humming and every reason why we are no longer together. At night I keep justifying my movements forward towards liberation and surrender, throwing the pieces of your heartache to the stars, blessing them for you to see, reminding you someone loves you and holds you and always knows you to be way more special in the face of how others have neglected.