Want to Believe

The young author at the conference,
meets her idol,
he tells her ‘such talent’,
‘what writing!’
‘let’s work together’,
but-
plot twist-
there was something else he wanted.

The black boy who learns,
‘yes sir, yes ma’am’,
‘put your hands on the dashboard’,
‘don’t talk back’,
before he learns how to read.

The woman in front of the mirror,
locked door and lipstick,
wondering, 
how does she tell her parents
they never had a son?

I want to believe
hate is a filter we were taught to wear,
not the eyes we were born with.
Want to believe
the systems are broken, 
put the people are open to change.
Want to believe 
that love is human nature,
that human nature
is love.

I see blackouts
and think solidarity,
but I also see blackouts
and think bombs,
look at history
and see this consistency of hate,
thousands of years of discrimination.
A world so long rotten,
it’s forgotten how to be whole,
blooming beauty, but the pollen is poison.

I hear
take this rope,
take your feet,
take your knee off our necks.
I hear,
marching feet and
the rattle of train tracks and
the survivor’s silence,
heavy,
heavy,
far too heavy.

But when I turn,
tilt my head - 
the soldier’s march becomes the protester’s rhythm.
Silence becomes reverence,
amplified,
and I hear
songs of comfort
and
songs of revolution
and
thousands of voices,
no,
millions of voices,
together,
growing,
rising,
changing…
something.

Our world is beautiful,
our world is despicable.
We humans are despicable,
we humans are beautiful.

Were we born to love?
Born to hate?

...born to choose?