With privilege comes responsibility
To help your fellow man;
Something the privileged should always do
Quite simply because they can.
To you, privilege was gifted
Due to the genetics of your birth;
It is not a license to act arrogant and entitled
Every day you walk on earth.
Being privileged makes life easier
Whether you recognize this or not;
Being privileged was a contributor
To almost everything you've got.
With privilege should come compassion
With empathy in the mix;
Through charity and goodwill
Other's problems you can help fix.
Privilege provides you opportunity
By opening many doors
That others may not walk through
Unless you hold open yours.
You can live your life of privilege
With no need to apologize,
As long as the Golden Rule
Is a life guideline you live and recognize.
Empathy, Sorrow, Guilt, Shatter
In the physical world, nothing really matters
Dead will be dead, the sufferers may not survive
Because, none could savour the "Grand Privilege Platter"
Pleasure, Love, Compassion, Discern
I want to unlearn all these concerns
Because shards of me die as the days slip
But what could one do,
If they aren't privileged enough to earn
Ism isn't right, it's spite which stems from deep emotion
Welling up within the soul when we confront the notion
That someone somewhere is receiving what we think is ours
Bestowed on us from somewhere we think's written in the stars
I lost my voice, it wasn't my choice
Friends said, "I'll keep an eye out."
Like it's their favorite joke
And I laughed right along with 'em
But it made me think, just for a moment
This must be what it's like
To be born without one
What must it be like
To be born without one
Without a voice, in a noisy world
Where the quiet ones are just ignored
And the loudest ones get all the glory
What must it be like to have no voice
In this world
I have a friend who teaches ASL
To people who couldn't hear it
If a freight train sat down right beside them
And I thought, "How lonely it must feel
To never hear the joke
'Specially when it's on you
My voice'll come back in a day or two
I'll miss it and sharing my point of view
But my friends have heard it
They're happy for the break
And when it's back
I should be a little more eager
To share the voice I have
With someone who has none
To raise the voice I have
For someone who doesn't sound like me
Maybe I could lend an ear, to one whose greatest fear
Is being left out of the conversation
Missing sorrow and elation
Of inclusion and belonging
Someone who's been longing
To belong
Ashes all around, raining down
Drowning the misery with more
The floating specks of grey
That were once a rosy pink
Filled with fragrance and life
The flowers paved the way ahead
New love blossoming under the trees
First kisses behind the school buildings
Birds pecking at the ample rice grains
And a happy, happy place.
Nothing much has changed since
Only the air thick with morbid death
The boundless bed of ashes giving way
To nameless faces half buried in eternal sleep
Thorns drawing blood with every step
Unmarked tombs crowding weeping trees
Dried tears on the unturned pages
Vultures scavenging for fleshes of suffering
But the throne got an heir at long last
So a happy, happy place it is still.
The Privilege of being a Mother —
Is lent — not owned — by Time —
A Stewardship of tender Hours
And Courage — born of Mind —
Keep them — from Driving — till you must —
The World — is swift — and loud —
Let Fields instruct their earliest Steps —
By Bush — and Leaf — and Cloud —
Empathy — a quiet Bread —
Compassion — poured like Wine —
They learn — by how you pause — and feel —
The bruise — before the Sign —
The River tutors — patiently —
How many Trees — agree —
To bow — and go — the faithful Way —
From Root — to restless Sea —
They are — as Clouds — that borrow Form —
Here — briefly — then — no more —
You lift your eyes — they pass — You by
Their Sky — has changed — some More —
So hold — with Hands — that know release —
And Hearts — that dare — to stay —
For Love — is strongest — when it learns
Your part — that Lets them — Go —
In a world full of snakes
How do you tell which is poisonous
Each identical
Yet some harmful
In a world full of political parties
How do we know which one is all inclusive
Different paths
But the same ending?
In a world full of smiles
How do you differentiate between lie and truth
When promises are empty
And lies become identity
In a world of corrupt politicians
How do you decide which one is genuine
Are they playing nice for their campaign?
It's hard to trust when they've no shame
In a world that favours white
How do we expect change
When history is the same
When past and present live in the same age
In a world that fights for power
How do we become equal
When the world is against black people
When life is a climb to superiority
In a world that lives in delusion
How do we escape ego
When they are blinded by privilege
When they lead without reason
Black without a mask
What would it look like to be black without a mask?
Would it look like freedom?
Or would they laugh?
At our attempt to be ourselves
To feel like we can tell the world
That we are fighting back
That we are tired of being attacked
That we are human and you should respect that
Maybe it would feel like a weight removed
Like entering a sunlit room
Like when flowers finally bloom
Like when the sky shows you the moon
And you know it's time to for bed
And you can rest your head
After a long day That had you stressed
What would it feel to burn that mask ?
Would it feel cathartic
Being black and being free from the curse of having to act robotic
In a world that wants us to shrink
And overthink our emotions
Maybe it would feel like letting go of a deep breath
Or waking up from a nap refreshed
If only racism didn't exist
We wouldn't have to dream of this
We'd have the privilege
Of freeing our emotions
after Privilege of Being by Robert Haas
A tipping point of too many
are talking harshly. Down below,
demon-dead in the unstirred inferno
and perdition of animal thirsting
are coiling one another's tails in response.
They are honeyed vermillion and covered
in trim the texture of hot picamar.
They espy up all the time
at the graceless rapture—
it must sound to them like cold butter
dancing across a cast iron skillet.
Then one voice—she is about to shout—
takes the man's rigid hand and says,
listen to me, and he does.
Or is it the man caressing loose
the gravelly noose of anger?
Anyway, they do,
they listen to each other:
two minds with matured mediums,
hungry to be heard, to be fed by the frisson
of recognition, their skin sizzling with it—
brutal words turned into kindness
by well-intended touches,
and the gossiping, nosy dead are derelict
and growing deaf. They hate it.
They scream a chivvy about injustice
that breaks no skin, but frays the veil
between
what's bone and broth—
a warning, a dirge, a hiss of envy
worse than silence.
Well first of you have to be black
So if your not sorry about that
I guess you're just gonna have to be believed
I know for once your not included
How does it feel not to be the centre of attention
I guess it must be hard having white privilege
Oh and also being favoured
And no I'm not joking
Anyways back to the point
Black girls listen up
So what you are gonna need to is just open your mouth
Cause they don't like that
They'll call you violent
Kicker is they hate when your also silent
And use that as an excuse to discredit us
To dismiss us
They do this intentionally
So people won't believe us
I know
How scandalous
You're also gonna have to just exist
Yeah this one's gonna be the easiest
To accomplish
Us living apparently really hurts them
So they are probably gonna do everything
To make sure our voices are ignored by everyone
Because who is society going to believe
I'll give you a hint
The ones who have privilege
Sucks don't it
Well that's how you know you're doing something right
Cause remember we don't want to be believed
I mean it really is just that easy
Because when you're black
You're automatically not believed
Travel is not a right
But a privilege, thus spoke Zarathustra
In his most late incarnation
Travelling is tied with applying
But it’s more than ridiculous to ask for privileges.
Especially since the answer is known.
Zarathustra's commodity is hate
I'm not tempted to support his drama
Let those who agree to pay
Have the privilege.
Though, according to Zarathustra's logic
The right to privilege is not legalised
Kneel down, travellers
Someday you'll be pitied
You’ll get the right to buy
The burning date for the bus tour
To the most privilaged holy places
There you may take some selfies
Get the table to eat outside
The same instant meal
That you can have in your hometown
At half a price
Afterwards you’ll get the AI reminders
Sort of “remember that day?”
a green forest…
void of man
full of nature
a tranquil peace
washes over me
stress at its least
the trees tower over me
the clear creek trickles towards the river
where the salmon are free
don’t take nature for granted
for it’s a privilege
for you and me
I have never been arrested,
abused, discarded, neglected.
All because someone protested,
it’s my color they detested.
I have always been protected,
accepted, respected, vested.
Civil rights never molested,
my freedom never contested.
No one has ever suggested,
because I’m black I’m now suspected.
To be so badly infected,
that it cannot be corrected.
Let this message be digested,
if we want this life perfected.
We must all become connected,
to a world that’s not divested.
Waking up every morning with breath
God selected me
I really am not sure why
At times I want to question him
However he never seems to leave or say goodbye
He loves me in my imperfections
He loves me in my faults
The privilege is that he died for me
He died without a second thought.
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