God. Who’s he?

A figment of your imagination, a phantom of my reality?


Who read in a book written a millions years from now, that for only a “small fee” rebirth can be found?

Wanna get to heaven? Sounds great! Make sure to slide a 20 on top of the collection plate.

telling lies like a poor man can get to heaven, oh honey, only the rich can afford wine and anointed caskets. Take your rags to the back, throw some pennies on the plate, we’ll give you the “salvation” you clearly lack for love and understanding.

Our pastor needs another Ferrari, meanwhile
You don’t have a car. Just show up every Sunday, and we promise you’ll rest with the stars.

For $19.99 confess all your sins. Tell it all to a stranger, say some prayers, then do it over again.

This is religion, the largest capital regime. So remember next Sunday, is not always what it seems.

A glance to the right, and she walks through the door. Two seconds too long lingering on her face. Assessing the “threat”, finally looking away.

Country music blares, we’re seated at the bar. She couldn’t get a drink until I walked in. “Service with a smile” they say......**** that.

Driving down the road I’m stopped at a light. A cop pulls up next to us. She begins to shake.....

A joke taken too far, she’s forced to laugh. Convince herself it’s funny so it doesn’t hurt.
compare her skin to paint being chipped away time and time again until there’s nothing left.

Comparison. Yes. Compare her to the “friend” you have. You mean that one black guy you spoke to once. I mean you guys were polite so it counts right? Nice guy, never had a problem with him.......wait why would you?

I never understood until I met you. Now I’m ashamed. Ashamed of my pigment of who those people are, convincing myself day after day I’m not like the others. Asking for repentance for the sins I’ve been taught to commit in the past. A 10 year old racist child a model of her mother the epitome of casual racism. Adopting pop culture I’ll never appreciate or understand. Liking “hip-hop” but making remarks about the singers.

I met you and my blindness is gone. However my privilege remains. A broken tattered skin that I’m forced to remain in. Claiming a heritage that I’d **** to make disappear.

I wish  I could protect you. wrap my arms around you tell the whole world they’re wrong and never let go. I’d buy you a space suit, to protect you from the contaminated air, and the hate behind those meaningful stares. Cover you in a blanket of love and healthy normalcy.

If only love could break down walls and form revolutions. Because if it could, baby this would be a world full of real people and real solutions.

Look I know it sounds harsh, but see it from my perspective. Actually don’t. Because my perpective is your perspective but let’s make something very clear. Just because we share the same pigment doesn’t mean we share the same ideas.

Ironic. I know. The idea that I’m not a fascist **** is weird, but I’d like to hope it’s true. So let’s go through the step by step build your basic redneck racist ******* pack.

1. “Make America great again” this one needs no ******* explanation.

2. “All lives matter” again, self explanatory.

3. “White privilege doesn’t exsist” oh, I’m sorry you take for granted the fact that you don’t get shot at traffic stops or become physically ill when your the only one in the room

But see it’s not only the extemeists that are dangerous, it’s the common, staring for a second locking your doors at the sight, not walking down the same alley at night, asking invasive questions, making “jokes” racism that’s dangerous.

Just because you don’t think it’s wrong.
Doesn’t mean it isn’t.

Your a racist *******. And you don’t realize it.
But then again so am I. Even when you think you understand, remember that you don’t.

So do the world a favor and stop and think. You can’t change your pigment but you can change your **** attitude.

Hatred anywhere is hatred everywhere. So advert your eyes from her face, she literally just wants to eat dinner too, and shut the **** up about who’s lives matter because the real truth is if you hate the way you do, then yours is the one that doesn’t.

A mask is something we wear to hide our real selves. Some of us wear our masks all the time while others don’t even realize they have masks at all.

Her mask is the epitomy of wealth and prosperity... so why are you on food stamps?

Her mask drives a bmw.....is that why you can’t make your car payments?

Her mask buys fivoluous **** that she’ll never use...is that why you overdraw your bank accounts?

Her mask is a lie she’s lived her entire life....is that why you wasted all your money?

Her face tells the real story...your irresponsible, self-serving, with an insatiable appetite for anything that you can’t have.

A mask helps you pretend to be someone your not.

But the thing about masks is...

They all have to come off eventually.

There's a feeling in my mind I can not seem to reach, a feeling filled with joy, however ringing with defeat. Sometimes it comes in waves, sometimes just a few, but the one thing I know it's comes when I'm surround by you. Growing up in a box that appears to be locked, but appearances fool you, so you'll end up being mocked. In fact, the box was wide open all along, the whole time, it's the same thing with this feeling I can't seem to find. Is it gratitude, hopelessness, happiness, or fear? What even is this feeling, is it really even here? I've sat and wondered what life would be like in a different world, another place. Because physically I've escaped you but mentally I'm still battling all the demons you've made me face. One thing I know now is that this feeling is alive, alive inside my heart, in my head, in my mind. I've endured this long enough so it's time that I confess, what you've done to my mind, it's an unruly mess.

Okay kid here's the deal, you'll come into this world and everyone will tell you how to feel.

Fast forward, fifth grade, you're in the bathroom stall. The first time you knew the word gay, it was written as a slur on a ***** cement wall.

When your brother came out it shouldn't been a surprise, but even
you became accustomed to the fear behind his eyes.

Using art as an outlet, you set your electricity free, bleeding words onto paper, grasping for being who you wanted to be.

Drunk on idealism and Tumblr walls, discovering yourself, refusing to fall.

Into the same routine and monotony like the rest, you took your pain to the stage, ripped your heart open and confessed.

Screaming I AM WHO I AM, with your arms open wide, who knew one day you'd finally refuse to hide?