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  • Writer's pictureAlexander

Please (or: Race race)

Two poles so far from each other

Two eyes so close

One image, one picture, one yonder,

There is no other, only different.

So sound, so secure,

You feel like you don’t want to disclose

how you really are,

what you really think,

that would offend, that would stink.

You are horrible, you are bad.

Skin colour counts more than being sad.

Let’s stop all the fight, shall we?

Let’s stop all the pain, and fear,

let’s accept each other,

let’s find light in the darkness and

let me come near,

you, don’t know how this really feels,

how it burns, how to other somebody really is the weight of the world!

You ARE not bad. You have just beliefs,

and I have mine.

I am open to listen to you,

I am ready to welcome your point of view.



Now we all get along, don’t we?

You see, THAT is the problem,

and this is the FIGHT!

Love is everyone, and all we gotta do is FIGHT.

Fight for love, fight for pain,

fight for living the life we earn.

Here’s my concern: I’m not talking quiet,

no pain no gain, bro.

Stop using the words like they carry SHAME.

Stop believing the problem is somewhere else,

the problem is you, AND me, and everyone else.

Say them out loud, pronounce them,

we want to hear, we want to read,

we want to know what you keep

inside that head of yours,

come on, have faith, take that leap.

Yes, there might be fight,

yes, there might be blood.

You might say something wrong,

*I* might be wrong!

But only through this you’ll find the LIGHT!

Believe this is the answer, not your belief!

Here’s the chance, there’s the beef!

Don’t let it fall, decay, it’s time to cry.

Go, fly, come,

give me a hug or a punch,

but just don’t turn this awry.

You’ve got to think.

It’s not a race, race.

It’s human, race.

I like it, race.

I think of it, race, as of a shade.

I like to think of it as that, but,

thing is that,

I’m not… really… sure

you can define it. Like that.

Race is who you are,

white is what I am but it’s invisible to me;

but it’s just not the same for all.

Other colours are not as subtle.

I do wonder, does it feel the same or…

similar? If it weren’t for that other flaw…

you know — Oh, sure: Fear!

Fear of what’s different,

needing duality to create different species,

categories, it’s so… in the mind.

So little out there, so not REAL, is what it is.

The only race we care about

is the one that we cannot win.

No medals no prizes at the end,

Only the end, sourly, eventually… bing!

And you’ll start again. No, sing!

And so, Believe. Listen. Explore.

Make mistakes but: Strive to be better.

Bread and butter for me, please.

Oh, did I stutter? Here they come, the police!

This is crazy, I CAN’T BREATHE!

LISTEN TO ME, to US: we said. Please.

(Photo by Adrien Olichon)

For all my Spoken Word poems and for the full audio versions, please consider giving me your support and becoming my patron: it would mean a lot to me.

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