Slam One

Before I begin, a word of caution:
Don't judge me based on proportions
A little white girl from a good family
That's the surface, you see --
and it doesn't make for good poetry to be writing about
all the shit that I've never seen
so I'll write what I know. The Truth, according to
The Gospel of My Experience
The only gospel I've ever trusted in
And if you're peering in, know that once you begin
You are entering the recollections of all that is me,
the fallacies, stumbles and falls
tumbling out in sentences and paragraphs
like so many drops before you notice the rain.
That's the disclaimer.
I won't try to change you, but maybe persuade you
To think outside of your four-cornered box, your two-sided
city, your misunderstood state in a union that's far
from being perfect.
And when I open my eyes to those others become quick
to judge, I hope you see
The labels you affix are not for me, not for anyone
in the community.
I think pointing out sex, class and race is based on a
perpetuation of fundamental hate
that you can trace back to farther than we could go.
But what do I know? There's so many people here
Telling me it's a very modern abnormality
But we're lacking originality
If we want to be thoroughly modern
Then we should stop telling the children what color they
are perceived as being
What neighborhoods they should avoid seeing
Remove the duplicitous labels that afflict society
and cast off the injustice and homegrown hate
that comes with that notoriety.