I think you do not realize that the childhood of the privileged does not make you richer with knowledge - There are people far wealthier than the 1%
From kids who come from bad homes or have good reasons to hate where they came from, I find it's always the kids who come from good homes who are the first to argue how we shouldn't hate them. Even though we will never say anything about how they love their families unconditionally. This poem kind of represents that.
Quarter of a century down Still trapped in the same old world A world of part time jobs and no benefits Of living with our parents And hearing about millennial privilege. The privilege of working our ***** off And having nothing to show for it The privilege of not going to the doctor Because we can't afford to get sick The privilege of hearing how we're killing industries Because we've found better ways to spend our time The privilege of knowing one in 3 of us has been molested in our lifetime And knowing most of them don't believe us. The privilege of participation awards But knowing the difference between winning and dying Because we can't afford basic medications The privileges of being 25.
Seeing this from one eye Is the luck of having two.
"Thank you.", I say.
With half my mouth in silence As muted screams escape the smothering hand that says LOVE.
This poem is about men who don't acknowledge the existence of abuse. Maybe even their contribution to it for ignoring it. The privilege of being a white man in a country that burns victims is incredibly frightening. Having accountability for your actions and checking others. Violence is everywhere .
When I look upon my path All I can see is light I feel a beating in my chest But it's never felt quite right The sounds will echo in my hollow head The sounds will remain until I'm dead An opportunity to climb the ladder A door opened with success in sight My heart can't help but feel sadder My lungs run out of air The will to continue has always been my swear But what can I do when my legs go numb When the thought of being without makes me feel bare My hands will sweat My heart will race and in that moment I'll care Still I won't know And maybe I'll never feel what I've imagined And maybe I'll remain too scared to tell what happened I'm privileged I'm supported But that's not going to change it That feeling of hatred That inadequacy I'll still feel like a ghost I'll still feel wasted. Those dreams of warmth My dreams of hope They leave a crack in me They leave a hole of frost behind I need that warmth Because maybe in time I'll be less than anyone can see That's not a promise or a threat It's my prediction It's my fear that I'll never forget
I was really focused on doing good then. Something I can still relate to. Written in 2013