On Being White
I didn’t see my privilege because I was
separate in many ways from those
who did not have it
by fate not white-white
that honeyed light that people like
me enjoy, like caramel on vanilla
as brown-like as is allowed
to maybe someday be even beautiful
people liked my skin, they told me
my eyes
loved my outside. even as a child
I thought, but I had nothing to do with that
See, that’s the truth about skin
we don’t do that to ourselves instead
they make it that their likes are favored
I didn’t see my privilege because I was
blinded to those without
it, I didn’t know
those who suffered from society’s gaze
or remained unseen by the hierarchy
of which my unearned color provided membership
hatred, tribalism, shame, oppression also
unearned
I didn’t see my privilege until I did
some still don’t
and then I tried to understand
when things did not make sense
when anger flared from people
not like me, who did not like me
and what I represent
and I tried to see from behind their gaze
I saw how angry I would be
without the privilège I didn’t see
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