I Am Not Ok

This is not ok.

I am not ok.

I say this fully aware that as an able-bodied, neurotypical, cisgendered, heterosexual, gender-conforming, middle-class, middle-aged, white male who was lucky enough to be born into a strong, stable, supportive family, and who has an MBA from a prestigious school and an executive position in a field that has blissfully remained unaffected by the global pandemic, I am as privileged as it is possible to be without being a member of the 1%.

And I am not ok.

I can literally only imagine what everyone else must be feeling — people whose gender is more fluid than mine, whose sexuality has been repressed but yearns to be expressed, who have an X where I have a Y, who are Jewish or Muslim or Hindu, who speak a first language other than English. But today, especially, people whose skin is darker than mine.

A people who were subject to slavery, and Jim Crow, and segregation, and redlining, and an institutional racism that is still rotting away the very core of our society, and so, so, so, so, so very much more.

A people two of my children belong to.

I am very not ok.

While I can’t condone rioting and looting and vandalism, I can absolutely understand it. I can only imagine what I would be capable of if it were my son or my daughter whose life was taken. No, I can’t condone the violence, but if it were me, and that was my Baby Bear under the knee of that officer, I would hope others would understand when I burned the whole fucking city to the ground.

—-

It’s been a while since I’ve shared my creativity publicly, but this seems like the right time. It’s helping me process. Maybe it will help someone to understand. If we work on understanding, then we can work on fixing, and preventing, and elevating, and supporting.

Anyway, here’s a poem…

—-

Hear No Evil

You didn’t listen when they kneeled
You didn’t listen when they prayed
You didn’t listen when they marched
You didn’t listen when they swayed

You didn’t listen when they raised their hands
And said they couldn’t breathe
And when they had no place to go
You asked why they didn’t leave

Then when they tried to tell you
That their lives were important, too
You told them that they were selfish
You showed them it wasn’t true

So when the crimson flames of rage
Erupt and fill the sky
Fanned by the winds of sorrow
Don’t stop and ask them why

The embers have been neglected
Now the fire’s burning bright
The caged bird sings of freedom
On this dark and lonely night

a very tiny spider

A very tiny spider pranced around atop my head.
It shimmied down my earlobe, and then dangled from a thread.
It scurried down my shoulder, and then scuttled down my arm,
While I watched with much amusement, since it clearly meant no harm.

Oh, where do spiders wander when they walk across the floor?
Do they have a spider family waiting just outside the door?
I hope its web is warm and soft when the day comes to an end.
Farewell, good bye, and bon voyage, my very tiny friend.

anthem

I am not content to be content. Not today,

Tomorrow, or after the leaves fall. In my way,

I am restless: eager to grow, eager to learn,

To find in each season a lesson, in turn.

I will use all the words that flow from my pen

To fight for the rights of less fortunate men:

To speak for the speechless and give them a voice,

To give hope to the hopeless – to offer a choice

Between mute resignation and mast'ry of fate.

I will change and will grow, for it's never too late

To gain the momentum to move the world forward.

No, I will not be one to turn his gaze upward,

To look at the stars, affixed there in the sky,

And to not wonder how, and to not wonder why,

And to not wonder when, and to not wonder where,

And to not wonder who might be living out there.

I will live on the moon and will sail through the stars -

Out past Saturn, past Venus, past Neptune and Mars.

No wint'ry discontent will keep me Earth-bound.

I will bloom in the light of the sun circling 'round.

I will soar through the sky like a bird on the wing.

I will laugh, I will dance, I will cry, I will sing.

I will love and I'll hurt and I'll live through the pain,

Then I'll open my heart and I'll do it again.

And, if all of my dreams do not come to pass,

I won't sigh, I won't pout, I won't mutter, "Alas,"

For I dreamt and I strove and I gave it my best

Before settling down to a long-deserved rest.

burning

I would burn for you if you asked me to.

I would douse myself in kerosene,

Light a match, and wrap myself in flames

So that I might join you in solidarity –

That I might join you in protest

Of a brutal and blameless man,

Who left you bruised and beaten outside and

Battered and broken inside and

Burning – so brightly burning – all over.