Privilege is
a high and
mighty tower
from which
to judge
                       the
                bruised
         broken
    bent
rungs
of thine
ascension

OR

from which
to raise
the
broken
   bruised
        and bent
              to their
                       own
Hallelujah


This is something I wrote during a bout of insomnia. I was lying in bed thinking about the reasons I often don't write what I feel like writing. My mind turned to judgement. I began listing the specific people I felt would judge me - who were they? What made their judgement valid? What gave them power over me? What made their judgment more "right" than my "wrong" writing?

The thoughts turned in my head until this wisp of inspiration appeared. I thought I was done writing after the word "ascension" but it felt unsettled. It left privilege standing alone as if it was solely to blame. I realized I had only painted one side of privilege, the side that was bothering me. I began thinking about the privileged people I know who are kind, who use their privilege to lift others in need.

The second half emerged and I thought I was done.

Another wisp of inspiration flitted by and I caught it by the tail before it fleeted away. I arranged the words in steps, the first half descending and the second half ascending. At least, that is the way it appears to me. I wanted the illusion of judgement looking down on those it had crushed on its way up the social ladder while the second group looked up, trying to raise others with them.

Hallelujah appeared out of nowhere. It just popped in my head so I used it as a foundation for the steps heading up.

Ultimately, I have decided I don't need to worry about the people staring down from the judgement staircase. I needed to focus on the people reaching for their own Hallelujah.

Also, my bout of insomnia was cured.