Some ridicule me because of my race.

Some ridicule me because of my face.

I'm white, I get it, I'm a disgrace.

To all of my peers they want me gone without a trace.

You say black lives matter and I believe you.

But thats no reason im not human, I bleed too.

You ask everyone to walk in your shoes, but when we do, you're too afraid of the truth.

Look at life through my glasses for a while.

I promise your perspective will change.

Yes I'm privileged, but not in the ways you think.

Oh this is the worst part of my life, you better not blink.

See that man standing over you?

Thats my sperm donor, now watch as he beats you.

Oh hey look at that lady sitting in the corner crying.

That's my mother, shes seeing her dreams dying.

You see, you stereotype not having a father.

But mine abused the fuck out of me, so why even bother?

I'm white though, I get it, I'm special in every way.

But I remember getting jumped in my front yard literally every day.

Afraid to go outside, with friends I wouldn't play.

I reside in the hood.

For a white person that can be hard.

When they found out my family was white

They took it out on our car.

I hear gunshots at night, and sirens every day.

Please understand I'm not special in any way.

I'm privileged, I can't deny.

But I'm privileged with this type of life where others would rather die.

I wonder why I can talk so easily about the things that play tug of war with my sanity.

The masses say that sharing should be hard.

I uncover and explain with surprising ease but along with the barrage or words my voice grows monotone and a sickening feeling festers in the pit of my stomach.

I have been disconnected from the wires in my scull.

Please excuse me, My wifi’s down.

The numbing agent finds my nerves and

my tears do not meet my waterline.

I am confused.

And I am lost when I feel most exposed.

How did a wave of heart wrenching emotion come to find a place where if fears the light.

I don’t fear the light, but something inside me does. Holding the expression captive.

I can’t pinpoint the problem.

I told myself I was vulnerable.

That is not false by definition, but it is not laden with pure truth.

My inner conversations are defined by a key inside a lock. Not turned.

My words are like a book. Read but not comprehended. Lost meaning.

My thoughts are like a tree strong rooted, but does not bare leaves.

I am a wick with no flame.

I am missing part of my explanation.

When in solitude, I gush the truth in my hand writing.

I notice the inevitable and I sit in wasteland.

I feel the depths of my soul toss and turn like a toddler restless in the night.

I am a ball of what you could define as crazy

and my heart skips like a rock on the lines of the water only to crash into the shore on the other side.

I let go of all sanity and let myself succumb to dissonance when no one is watching.

When no one is listening.

Why does my heart loose feeling when I am met with a place of safety?

This place of safety questions my process and authenticity.

I am covered with a blanket of soft questions with good intentions.

In a room that feels like home

Surrounded by people who are willingly standing in my shoes and bandaging my wounds

Yet I speak as if I have everything under control.

I speak with authority as if the things that I share are as light as a feather.

I speak with a face so flush that it shows no depth.

I fear that the things that dig so deep seem shallow to my audience

I fear that the things that I share are being shoved the backs of people’s minds to sit in the junk draw just take up space.

I fear that my feelings are not counted as valid because I have dry eyes

And a tone of voice that stays consistent without hesitation without shaking.

I fear that I have to prove my pain.

I can’t pin-point the problem.

I don’t understand why.

I have no idea if the silver lining is around the next bend,

But I can tell you, I am missing part of my explanation.