Prejudice isn’t a color problem, it’s a people problem

Prejudice isn’t a color problem it’s a people problem. It’s a choice, a view, it’s an opinion. Prejudice isn’t specified, or generalized, it’s globalized. It’s not one race, or one sex or one age. Prejudice doesn’t come in one size or all, it isn’t engrained in every single soul. It’s a choice, a view, a difference in opinion. Some of us choose love, while others live in hate, but it doesn’t specify based on color, sex or age. Because prejudice isn’t a color problem, it’s a people problem that not all of us have. So when you make a judgment based on my size, my age or the color of my skin, let me speak first, listen to my beauty within. I choose love, and I choose all, so listen before you see, because prejudice isn’t me. 

The love of a farmers wife

To my husband the farmer, my doer of everything, my over achiever. To the one who never rests, who wears his scars proudly and pushes through the pain of his over-worked body. To the man who still sparks a fiery of passion in me, the one our children adore, and so patiently wait for. You know who you are, and I know you. I know why you wake up every day with the morning sun and stay up well into the evening glow. I know your stubborn feat to keep going when your knees grow week. Your hats of many, fixer of it all, the one we all love.

We don’t question days spent apart, because we know why. 

To my husband the farmer, the one they call daddy, we understand what it means to be a caretaker of the land. To pave the way for years to come, to stand strong into the setting sun. 

I understand the love of a farmer, the one I call home, the one I am proud to call, my husband the farmer. 

To the wife of a farmer, the doer of it all, your children’s everything, your selfless nature and the carrier of patience. 
To the keeper of the house, the many failed attempts at fixing it yourself. To the runner, the stayer and the waiter, you know who you are, and I know you. I know why you stay up well into the setting sun, just to catch a glimpse of the man you love. I know why you wake up each day with shoulders built to carry, hands meant to mend, and a gentle voice made to soothe.  

To the wife of a farmer, I know your strength, The capacity of both a mother and a father. I know your worry into the harvest’s eve, as he pushes through another sleepless night. 

To the wife of a farmer, the woman he adores, I know why you keep going when your eyes grow weary. The one he calls home, his reason for it all, I understand the love of a farmers wife.