Free

There’s no such thing as truly free.
At least not what I’ve seen.
Because as free as you can be to do what you please,
but to say different? “Girl, please,
sit yourself down and let your words freeze
Before they do any damage to the things we’ve acklowledged
To be right.
Or are you scared to let those who are oppressed
Walk firmly in the light?” 
They misunderstand – I have no fear in my testimony.
My beliefs are sincere and I have no qualms
In having them in my heart.
But to present them on my palm?
To exercise my freedom to contradict?
To enunciate the things that I have grown to think
Though it defies the thoughts and actions of the majority?
Terrifying.
Numbing.
Silencing.
See, the right to speech was not a right to “discuss”
It was simply a right to open your mouth,
To yell on the street that the presiden’t a bust
And the end is near for all who doubt.
That right never came with requirement
That there must be some who listen.
Some who will acknowledge your opinion
And will at least accept that tradition
Of agreeing to disagree.
But to disagree now? In these streets?
Among these advocates of what it now means to be free?
I’m sure just for me they’d support the death sentence
To silence the person who’s against their vengeance
Of a world who for too long had said they were in the wrong…
Wronged for a wrong they felt powerless to fight.
Now this wrong will be made right.
Now those who oppose will no longer be right.
Will no longer have the right to wave the banner of spite
Of pain, and of hatred that has consumed this nation
And made it impossible to be… free.
I’m afraid to contradict.
I’m afraid to be picked
From a crowd as the sole contender
In a game against the masses.
I prefer the role of “bystander”:
Silently shaking my head as the world turns red
With the blood of men shed for a freedom
That was already paid by the blood of Jesus.
But I was not called to that role
Jesus told us to go,
To tell the world that they need no longer bleed,
To lay their burdens at Jesus’ feet,
To stand with boldness before the Father
To know what it feels to be called “Daughter,”
“Son,” “Friend,” by God.
To show them what love is.
But I am afraid. Intimidated
By the threat of being segregated,
Penned in as one who cannot be trusted
“Because she is against our freedom.”
Because it’s not like that.
I don’t mean that.
I love you, I love you all
For God loved you first and He did not send His son
To condemn you to bondage,
But to bring you to His bosom.
To cradle you as He did before you were born
Before this world came to own
So much hurt,
and so much suffering.
But I’m afraid if I reach out they’ll cut my hands
They’ll push me back and demand
That I run away, and keep running;
That they don’t want me in their city.
Yet even now, I come to this chilling realization
That this is exactly what they did to Jesus
My Jesus, my Friend:
They didn’t just want Him to run,
They wanted Him dead.
And so He did for them.
For He loves them.
We are called to live like Him,
yet so many forget to die like Him.
For we are called to love them all,
And so I do,
‘Til death do us part.
For it is the truth,
That sets us free.

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