I do not see myself in
The Priest
The Levite
The villains, so obviously writ
So uncomfortable, so nonplussed by pain
So distracted, unwilling to be inconvenienced
So afraid to look brokenness in the face

I desire to be seen as
The Samaritan
The marginalized
The unempowered, still so sensitive of heart
So tender, so willing to be taken advantage of
So unbroken by cynicism or contempt
So liberal with grace and gratuitous with mercy

But I am not him, I am
The robbed
The wounded
The self-inflicted, the self-destroyed
So mangled by the thieves that indwell me
So helpless, so constrained by brutal reality
Staring at the cold sky from the dirt I inhabit

I relate to the nakedly cut
The ditch-bound
The destitute
Not because I desire to be that man
Not because I find romance or poetry in the notion
But because I am that man, vanity be damned
And my God desires truth above all things
So Good Samaritan, do not pass me by