Chipped

No one believes...

but I’m familiar with

discrimination’s

ashy waste.

I taste it every time

my tongue delivers

words I wish I hadn’t

said. Instead of

fessing up and changing,

maybe rearranging

words too quick

to fly the coop,

I choose to stoop,

on sinner’s knees

to please the One

who shows the way.

While hay and wattle

fill the craw; for

every wood-block

sidling jaw

I’m well aware

of faults laid

bare to bake.

A different take

perhaps, than

numbered crowds

adore. But so much

more within my

feeble power

to pray upon.

I’ll take the

scorn you cannot

hide to crush

my ever present

pride for heaven’s

benefit alone.

If this be stone

of condemnation,

feeding common

man’s frustration

mark me peasant,

mark me lover of

the cross.

Then crucify away.