as an ally; a poem

momma, oh momma! i won the birth lottery ’cause of you!
your white genes mixed with poppa’s gave me privilege; all wrapped and new.
my icy blue eyes, and my straight blonde hair-
keeps the public from watching, giving them glares.

but… i never signed a waiver for this, no, there’s no permission slip here.
i never asked to witness their deaths. yet black lives (still) disappear?


it’s their darker complexion that “poses a threat”,
but once a white man sins, we tend to forget?

why is this normal? i don’t understand.

this is america, the freedom land?


don’t tell me their skin is an issue for you,

that’s unconstitutional, how un-american of you…

it’s funny how you think i’ll take my privilege card

and swipe for admission,
because quite frankly, i don’t want to live in a world where it’s so fucked up that we need to petition.

don’t tell me i’m overreacting, because i know damn well that this needs to be said.
if i don’t speak up, i’ll see more headlines like, “they’re officially dead.”

so don’t you dare tell me that this is the way it is and will be,
because you are so wrong, i’d like to kindly disagree.


you see, my God created the flowers with delicate petals to emulate our soft hearts.
but now He’s weeping in heaven, because all we’ve accomplished is falling apart.


birch and mahogany trees, night and day.

clearly God has a reason for these contrasting ways.

you see, there’s contrast in everything. His intention wasn’t to segregate!

so why are we all messing with the plan and replacing it with hate?




the officers’ excuses said that, “i thought he had a gun”

pardon me for asking, but why’d you even need one?


yes, not all policemen are evil. in fact, i appreciate most.

but the few that have committed murder have absolutely no right to boast.


here’s an idea

why don’t you shoot me

for my loud mouth.

shoot me

for my skin tone.

shoot me

for my opinion.

just don’t hurt my friends, they’re simply innocent civilians.


i stretch my hands out to all those affected by misconduct and hate.

but there’s an encouraging hope that it can (and will) get better

it’s never too late.


*Featured image via Pinterest


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