When you’re white, the world is made for you.
Is it just me? I glance and try not to stare, wondering
what it’s like not be an Other. I look away bitterly whist fully
yet I know I want to be myself.
To be Me?
For when you’re white, the world is made for you.
I craft my own world off to the
invite other Others in,
and sometimes you are let in- white you,
because when I
I see that you are
Our worlds merge
until I am on the
train and I
metal doors and
I walk home with shoulders hunched,
high by habit,
and only let go when I am…
what I am
I can take,
it’s mine to take,
the World is not made for Me.