When I write I never mean
To imply that we...
That I would have done
Any better than those
That came before us.
They carried different
Burdens
They ran from different
Things.
They
Lived and moved
Caught and tethered
To a different time.
They did the best
They could.
Most often
They did better
Than what was done
To them.
Yes
They hurt us
Hurt people
Hurt people
And still...
They bent the arc
Of history toward
Justice
As much as they
Could.
They pulled the
Bow and positioned
The arrow to fall
Closer to the mark
Than what had been
Shot before them.
Just as those that
Came before them
Did so for them.
History is long
They were making
A way for us.
For a future they
Couldn’t see
Couldn’t understand
They were creating
A space
For us to be able
To break free
Space
For us to breathe
Space
To finally
Sit down and look
At all the stories
That had carried us
Here.
Space
For us to risk
Taking off the
Armor
Space
For us to live.
My hands hold these
Stories
Their stories, my story
Woven into who I am.
They did their best
All of them.
My cup is full.
Sometimes
I want to cry
Because
I am so grateful.
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Yes, this is the mark of maturity to realize this.