a poem in progress

So I write poetry! Anyone who comes across this and knows me in real life may be fairly shocked at this fact. I try not to subject anyone to it. But, if you've made it this far, you've seen my complicated feelings about consent, and I consider you to be consenting henceforth. Here goes.

To white people with dreds.

I have to love you
It’s my job, you see
Because it sure isn’t the job
Of the people
Whose cultures of resistance
You conveniently
Consume
The consequences of which
Are the occasional look
Of disdain
But not down the barrel
Of a gun.
Nope.
It’s my job because
As much as there is
Scarce evidence
That my faith will be realized
I must have faith in white people
To resist racism
Respectfully
To challenge the system of
500 years
of our supremacist upbringing
teaching us nothing
but propriety and self-righteousness

To have faith in myself.

So because I love you
And because I believe
That constructive criticism
Is an act of love
I ask you
The white girl who told me that sugar wasn’t vegan
The white boy at the rally standing in front of me
Even you, ani difranco
Stop trying to be someone
You’re not, and spend
That time
Listening to the people
Whose legacies you are
Presently disrespecting.