For 'twas my first knowing,
My début into humanness and kind;
My foray into a species
that so completely loathes itself,
that it therefore renders unto its members
atrocities and insensitivities
best restrained to the primordial crab barrel,
whence we fought and scraped our way to sapience.
What, then, ought we to expect
from they, such as they are,
who have battled, bowed and
scraped their way to a psychic exigency
that precludes capitulation and
total devotion to a cause
that has never quite felt like their own?
Humanity has never really committed itself
to its own cause;
only the egocentric travails of wounded prisoners.
So we judge, and criticise,
pretend to know another's plight;
convince ourselves that we,
in our own limited knowing, are right:
to blame and accuse, choose and refuse,
hurl our unjust stones at those
who seek naught but an overdue sense of belonging,
of rectitude in their own inalienable free will.
However, in these, our darkest days, we have begun to reveal
our own truths, and reclaim our personhood, our stolen names.