Poem: Privilege

From the age of five or six,

There are little boys and girls

Who are already aware of how they must

Act in the yes of Big Brother.

Because they, as a minority, have a disadvantage,

They must conform to this outwardly

“Color blinded” blanket

To fit into and please one pure, virgin colored stitch

To comfort Uncle Sam at night.

Ignorance is truly bliss

For the little majority boys and girls

Who don’t see Big Brother.

Orwell never made it into their privileged

Reading lists.

And as soon as they take a sneak peek

Inside of its pages,

Why,

It’s blasphemy!

No, porn!

We mustn’t talk about this,

They say it doesn’t matter.

It’s not our fault that white is right

In the face of education

While black never lacks

In staining the work force.

“I’m not a racist,

I just don’t think race matters,”

Says the supposed Virgin Mary

Of the races.

Says this so-called angel who decides to wait

For an illegitimate judgment day

Instead of facing today.

They believe the profiles stayed in the past,

But racism didn’t die away

In the Holocaust, plantation days, or exclusion acts.

Demons are still very much alive

In Uncle Sam’s blanket;

The sin has now become so comfortable

That their hellish acts are neglected,

Not being exorcised.

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