I hate the part of me that hates

written as events unfold in Ferguson MO surrounding the shooting of Mike Brown.  And in my own back yard.  And in my own interior world.

I hate the part of me that hates
others without knowing them
allowing the pictures and stories
consumed over time
to gnaw at reality,
to train me to believe
the person who dresses this way
or talks that way
is more dangerous
than 
this one over here
who
by dint of genetics and cosmic randomness
looks, talks
seems
more like me

I hate the part of me that hates
to be told
I am part of the problem
part the system that continues to place
them
in a different category
on a different trajectory

I hate the part of me that learned
on seeing the brown-ness of skin
to hate
to fear
to withdraw
so that I must recalibrate
and reorient
my vision to see the human-ness of skin

I hate the part of me that waits
too silent
too compliant
too complicit
too comfortable
I sit when I am called to stand
I speak when I am called to listen
I tolerate when I am called to love

I hate the part of me that hates
and so I pray
the part of me that hates
would  be no more
and would be no less
than the memory
that propels me out of my comfort
and into your pain

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