The privilege is mine.

I know.

The uncomfortable answer.

I know.

We are angry because we are abused too.




Shut down like children.

But it only ends.

In shouting matches over who has been hurt more.

“We have been dominated since the beginning of time!”

But our white skin is still a privilege.

We are uncomfortable.

We deny.

We say it’s a lie.

“We have been dominated since the beginning of time!”

But I know.

Our white skin makes us invisible.

The thing they teach us to rage against.

Against the dying of the light.

You are white.

Stand up tall.

Take up space.

But you don’t know what a privilege it is.

To disappear.

Small chest. Flat breast.

To the President.

I am unattractive.

I do not warrant the male gaze.

But I can disappear before your eyes.

What a privilege it is.

Big Brother.


I am white.

I am protected.

Even the poorest.

Even the least educated.

You get the opportunity to fuck things up on your own terms.

No preconceived notions.

Innocent until proven guilty by the eyes of our white peers.

Our skin. A white flag.

Not for surrender. But brethren.


You may treat me like a circus animal.

But you applaud when this bitch can jump through hoops.

And I know I have less than The Others.

It’s novel that a woman can work like a man.

Drink like a man.

Cuss like a man.

Fuck like a man.

My skin.

Our skin.

Gives us the privilege to sneak through enemy lines.

There is implied trust.

In our smile.

Our light eyes.

Our red.

Our blonde.

Our brown.


Despite what is between our legs.

We still get the opportunity to prove what’s in our head.

Because we are white.

You let us prove you wrong.

Even if it is to sexualize us.

To say you let us in the club.

To check off a box for your community service.

We are still given more readily.

The opportunity to prove you wrong.

And it’s time we admit.

That it isn’t right.






I'm a licensed funeral director living in Los Angeles. This is a place to put my thoughts so I'm not always blowing up my friends' Facebook feed or Twitter with my asinine musings on life and death, and that cliché idea of, everything in between.