Why I Stand

“Racism is not the only thing that plagues our society. We all fall short. We’ve all done things that are wrong. And, again, if we are going to throw stones at a person or an entire race, for that matter, we’re throwing stones from a glass house.…” —Jonathan Isaac

Don’t tell me you know me—
I know who I am
I came from the place you pity: the City
Beautiful, the shitty institutional hellhole of the hood

Don’t tell me about them; I am them.
My mother raised me right where all was wrong:
Where might meant right, where kids grew up like weeds,
Their needs unmet, in schools without a God.
I’ve rolled down OBT, Orange Blossom Trail, they failed
At the name, whose claim to fame is highway deaths and whores.
The city’s spent every cent to fix everything that’s bent
Except men’s hearts.

Don’t tell me I’m insensitive; I’ve been through it.
It’s common sense to sense that something’s wrong.
We all should take the Fall.
Yet,
He who’s sufficient, do you know him yet?

Don’t tell me I’m rude
I know the rood
I came to his cross through believing: not leaving
God’s justice to gestures that hit but hurt not.
Take a shot
at empathizing without televising. Stop advising from a bubble.
Empty words are stubble which only make the fire hotter. When kingdoms totter,
There’s only one voice that can melt the earth.

Stones from glass houses, your nightly carouses
Preach louder than your Nike-d knee upon the court!
Your hardwood genuflection: man, how brave.
but look
The hardwood crucifixion: the Man, who saved.
What preached humbler than his naked knees upon the cross?
Take a piece of the blame, Adam’s shame
has enough to go round. And the peace
Of Christ’s blood does too.
Take the bleeding charity which isn’t distanced socially,
no,
the word is near you,
near your mouth and your heart,
that you may do it.

Don’t say “F the police.”
They, like me, are ineffable.
Love at death is ineffable
Our being’s ineffable.
Don’t try to pretend to people
That I’m the chump. That’s a jump
shot with no shot to go in. A win
for you is looking prim and sounding just and apropos.
Just? No.
Just know this stunt will backfire, the media’s ire
Will give its publicity to my authenticity
And not your joke.
For love is strong as death.

—This is why I stand.