A letter to you
That man on the street you see, that man is me. Yellow, brown, red or green, as long as it’s not white, it’s not seen. Many cross my way each day, suspecting that I’m a criminal in some way. What hurts the most is not being punched or dragged, it’s white privilege being flagged. I may not be one of ‘your kind’ but man I’d wish that you were color blind.
You may kill people and punish us for for who we are. For race, for religion, freedom and love. At the end of the day in you streams the same blood, no matter the color on the outside. Why hate on others like you do? You’re blind to see that the person you hate the most, is you.
So remember the day you fall and seek help, the man reaching his hand for you to see, that man one day might be me.
Some people are born blind. Born without a choice, without a chance to see. Others choose not to see.
Some people are born deaf. Born without a choice, without a chance to hear. Others choose not to hear.
Some people are born without a voice. Others choose to remain silent.