Customer service

I refuse to believe
That God gave me these hands
To type in a customers name as they a rattle of
A million and one complaints
No these fingers were never meant to type
About how your discount was not applied right
Or your large zebra print came in a small leopard stripe
No these hands weren’t meant to write
For customer service
Not when theres children attending less birthdays
And more funeral service
not when babies are being shot in car seats
not when families go without food to eat
not when there’s crooked police
and children afraid to cross the streets
 
how can I do my people  a disservice
how can I use these hands to do anything else but nurture
as I stroke gently
each finger across the keys
these hands were made to grip pens
like little boys grip heat
because they live by the street codes
not expected to live to 21 years old
and I’m sorry if your sweater fits too tight
but these fingers were meant to write
to inspire
to heal
How can I type about your misdelivered meal
When there are millions of families that go days without meals
These fingers were meant to braid
The 13 year old’s hair who burnt her self with relaxers
Cause she was told her was too nappy
Meant to hold on to the mothers hand
Who son was murdered by the cops
Meant to rebuild the burning shops
Meant to interlock as we march
No these ears weren’t meant to be your escape
As you rattle on and on about
Ticket dates
Its to listen the woman who was raped
Listen as she cries
Describing how she wish she had of died
Its to wrap my arms so tight
cause I couldn’t  find the words to console her
these fingers aren’t your remote controller
they belong to me, and God and anyone who every really needed me
these fingers were meant to caress the girl who had to be a woman
before she got breast
the boy who grew up without a father
the father who doesn’t know how to be one
the mother who cant be a father to a fatherless son
these hands were meant to pray
for hours a day for peace
because I know focusing on the opposite only creates more
these hands were meant to uplift the misguided woman who was called a whore
so much she started to believe
these hands were meant to hold up the glass that divides
the man facing life for a crime he never committed
these hands were meant to bare witness
these hands were made for forgiveness
I pray each and every day
That God is able to forgive
The many years I neglected to live within my purpose
Too concerned with what I looked like on the surface
Im sorry if I’ve done you a disservice
But these hands
These hands were never meant for your customer service