White Supremacy

I come from a long line of cowards
Who know resistance only as a buzzing gnat
By their ear that keeps them from their livelihood
"We cannot flourish with all this noise."
Head tiled in judgement and disgust,
Nose too high to see that beneath their feet are the masses
A space of supremacy only ever to be occupied by 
An ever-loving, just God,
And never man.
This is the sin we have never named.

I come from a long line of cowards
Who are too proud to admit that they may have messed up
Too proud to repent
Too proud to embrace
My God
I am sick of your games 
And your cowardice makes me ill
If only I might forget that you are
Bones of my bones and flesh of my flesh 
But I cannot.

Once I knew the taste of the air by my tilted nose,
Until one day I looked down
And in the masses swam into clarity the face of my brother.
In curiosity I crawled down,
With the firm, supportive grasps of my neighbors,
Only to see that resistance was the lifeblood of the spirit,
Community the medicine of the soul,
And story the tie that binds.

I come from a long line of cowards 
Who are so afraid of the unknown of our neighbors
That we will grasp (oh so) tightly to the illusion of flourishing
Rather than choosing the courage of repentance, mutuality, and healing.
This is the sin we have never named.