Guilt, privilege, and questions I was afraid to ask.

beautifullymisunderstood says:
November 26, 2014 at 4:47 am
It’s a feeling you can’t describe… You send them off in to what seems like the front lines of a war everyday but you have no clue who the enemy is and you’re not at peace until they return home.
This was a beautiful post.

This was my response to the question posed by Jennifer Palmer.

Her response represented a small sample size of America that may never know what we, MOTHERS, go through. Thank you. Thank you for your vulnerability and sharing this experience with me. I truly can’t imagine, and my heart aches for you. Love to you and your family.” Please read these simple words that carry massive weight in my heart.

almost open book

Last night fire swept through the streets

Climbed the walls,

The rugs racism has been swept under,

Heavy.  Burning.

I am white,

And I am guilty.

Of not being brave enough

To sit down with a black mother

Look her in the eye

And ask,

“What does it feel like?”

To be afraid for your babies

Your beautiful children, eyes full of love.

I am a coward,

Because I was afraid of the heaviness

Of letting that pain into my space.

My privilege is the freedom

To acknowledge oppression

Yet decide when I want to have the conversation.

Choosing whether to avoid the discomfort.

Choosing at all.

Maybe change begins

When suffering is so vast

It no longer fits inside human bodies.

When the ugly silence of fear

Is so loud, we can no longer deny it.

And when my heart aches as I look at you

Knowing that your truth…

View original post 26 more words

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