I don't know what it means to be a good person anymore.
It was easier when my head was full of pigtails instead of politics, when good was opening doors and doing your chores. When it was easier to pick out the bad.
Children are gifted with innocence and a diagram shaded with generalizations that their parents hold as truths. Mine shaded family members green, male strangers red. Mine shaded police officers green, black people pink - a whisper of bigotry, a silent justification. Mine shaded teachers green, playground bullies red. But when innocence fades, colors mix and saturations grow stronger.
My grandma tells me that she wishes she could think like me because she grew up in a world without rainbows, where white was good, and everything else was bad. But I don't know what good is when all I see is gray. It's not a generalization or a stereotype. I'm not whining because I countlessly fail at using my privileges to help people, I'm shouting because I've been beaten down with criticism for trying to be what I thought was good. My vision has been fogged with fear, and whatever shade of green that trust used to be is bleeding burgundy. *What the hell does it mean to be a good person?