To Become a Healer

Amelia Bjorklund

Ending oppression is common sense
Nursed from mama’s milk
Plain as the A B and C’s
It’s what I gotta do
Anything short is suicide
An act of betrayal
My grandmother
She disowned our family’s legacy of hatred
Spoon-fed her children an appetite for love
That was passed down to me
A gift I’m still learning how to give back
Cause…
I had gotten good at callin’ people out
Cheeks flaming heat
Heart fast forward beat
Throat shaking down scream
I’d go off
“Um… well in case you didn’t know,”
“Excuse me but…”
“Actually...”
These sentence starters would shoot my rage like daggers
At the faces of people who didn’t get it
Who dug into this wound
I used these sessions as an ointment for myself
Not caring how it left the other person-
Bruised, beat down, and less reluctant to look at their privilege
It was a self satisfying work
That transformed very little
 
I’m working on kickin’ addiction to judgments and assumptions
Celebrating imperfections
As a place to plant the seeds
Of vision, love, and forgiveness.
Anger has gotten me only half way through this twist in my gut and weight on my chest that makes breathing a struggle.  Pain and anger helped me to speak up and out but its love that has healed me… sustained me… and keeps me alive.  I must marry the two and direct my anger not at individuals- but at the systems that infect people with the disease that is white supremacy. 
I must believe there is a cure and that every human being can be healed. 
I must become a healer
See the possibility that lies in everyone’s humanity
To become a healer as well