My mother questions, “Why aren’t we equal?”
As she paints my walls with white
She wonders why my colorful friends don’t get as lucky as me
But she also wonders about the financial aid the government says we don’t need
I bang on her white walls and insist we’re well off
But she still asks why
And I can’t say “you! It’s because of people like you that my friends need a dollar or two”
Because of the way she plays hypocrite
Condemning welfare and the impoverished while asking why she doesn’t get any
Confirming the stereotype that most people aren’t innately racist
It’s just their own thoughtlessness that causes the disconnect
And it’s not just my mother, it’s all my people, me too
My friend once asked, “Why is Kierra so into social justice?”
Maybe because the history of our ancestors was carried on the backs of her people
Maybe because even today my people say we’re so good, so equal, so righteous
When we still look at a black man and assume the white is better
We don’t mean it but my assumptive mind insists that Kierra always needs a hand
When what is really needed is a strict hand to the side of my head
Jostle that rude assumption out of my head
She is her own person, not a broken house left on stilts
And assuming she is broken is worse than anything I can think of
So it’s a double edged sword because races need to work together to fix this atrocity
But we must also give each their freedom to grow and equalize equally
I will never understand the plight of one a different race
But I understand plight, from my gender and my mental state
My mother always told me treat everyone fairly
She always said to treat everyone right
But here she keeps on going
Painting my walls with white

All you breathe is the aching that has burrowed deep into your bones.
The lullaby that follows you into your sleep, into your dreams.
Hearts breaking with love’s retreating footsteps,
Sorrows always in search of companions,
Roaming souls looking for purpose.
The whispers of the night,
Can you hear it?
There it is.

Eyebrows like barbed wire,
Skin like leather,
Silver hair always carefully in place,
And a handshake that held your everything.
It's etched into my palm.
Beneath the kindest eyes I knew
Bags were packed for the Winter.
Every item picked thoughtfully for her:
His life