Rebellion is a funny thing; being denied the right to something
simply makes it that much more tempting;
forbidden fruit tastes the sweetest, as the saying goes.
But what of oppression? What taste would that fruit have,
riddled with hatred and malevolence?
Would thorns sprout from it's surface, would the juice taste sour?
Would eyes water as the foulness of it burned our throats, and caused us to weep?
Our world is far from perfect, lights doused
by the hopeless tears of those whose suffering
God turned a blind eye to. Wealth equals power equals the ability to have your mistakes overlooked, swept under the rug so silently.
But when a young teen is murdered because of the color of his skin, when a young girl is raped because of her clothing choice, when a loving couple is denied their right to marriage because of their sex, where is the justice then?
The poor, the misunderstood, the marginalized; looked down upon for things they can't change.
And even though we are all made of atoms and blood and muscle and skin and nerves and a brain, a white man's voice is louder than a black woman's, and one has to wonder why.