The Language of the Oppressor

I know the language of the oppressor

Tongues cutting flesh of the false professor

They say, let us say,

“Lord, hear us pray.”

The sins of our fathers and mothers

Remembered forever by none other

Than the babes of those condemned

Best to place the blame on “them”

Look to the text where it is written

Sexual sins suscept to be smitten

Save the souls of the sacred believers

The fires will burn unholy deceivers

Banners over busy bypasses

Signs made to reach the masses

Claiming that some of us don’t belong

Blaming one group for all that’s wrong

Hating the already living

Mourning the life not given

To babies conceived of sexual assault

Insisting it’s the girl or woman’s fault.

Oh, the humanity of the majority

To question the unseen authority

A Deity with a capital “D”

And of course, the pronoun HE

Can never be the enemy

If his D rose against her autonomy

An apple doesn’t fall far from

The wicked mouth and forked tongue

Yet the evidence gently gloats

From the man’s protected throat

Stoicism breaks to intense emotion

Confusing abuse for unbridled devotion

They call these cities “Sodom and Gomorrah”

Clapping all in anticipation for the

Wrath 

that will not fall discreetly

Misunderstanding the text completely

Sin is any harm against your neighbor

Or any kind of forceful labor

Consent is beauty and abundant love

Communion, rebirth, free as a dove

Flying with a message of hope and peace

Over the rainbow, my hope and peace.

Bullets spraying the image I’m seeing

Killing the dancers, the joyful, the fleeing

Children running from the open hand

They watch us burn across the land

Night clubs, groceries, and school shootings

Never decried like protests and looting

The oppressor doesn’t want us too loud

Lest they give us something to cry about

My loved ones are dying,

My loved ones are dying.

Protect our children from the harm

Truth is not reached by the strongest arm

Hold your cherished beliefs to your chest

Please let us live, and thrive at best

I know the language of the abuser

Always the ones who mock the accusers

Their command is to never look back,

Turn their heads from vicious attacks

Lest they turn to salt from crying

For the harm that they’re denying

Blame the pain on the ones who are feeling it

Bored by the concept of possibly healing it

Because we do not look like them.

Revelations, again and again.