Editor's ChoicePoetry

Holier Than Thou

You wake up happy, it’s a Sunday
You’re excited because you’re going to be in church today
The place where you put on your imaginary judge’s wig
And take your place at the helm of the judgmental rig

“Dreadlocks, my goodness, that boy is evil!”
“This church is a farm and his type are weevils.”
“She has tattoos, oh my, do her parents know?”
“Maybe at home she doesn’t let them show”

What you don’t know is your last daughter has been raped twice
Your last son thinks death by suicide is nice
Your first daughter has aborted thrice
And your first son has his hands in almost every vice

They can’t tell you ’cause they’re scared that you’ll call them evil
‘Cause they’ve seen you like total strangers to weevils
And because you’re Judge Holier Than Thou
To talk to you about their issues, your kids don’t know how.

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