The White Man

I normally don’t like reading about political opinions in poetry.

It is not a place for poets to duel with the pen; it is supposed to be a place of peace, of tranquility.

But lately, I have come to notice the sheer amount of hate and rage

Placed into neat, little typewritten words and are reserved, page after page,

For one audience alone,

For one person alone,

The White Man.

I have defended this audience, this seemingly “vile” demographic many a-times,

And have, as a brown, five foot zero, ninety-three-pound woman, been called

A)      Trailer trash

B)      A cracker lover

C)      A coconut

And my most favorite of all,

D)      A White Supremacist.

How did I earn these names, you ask?

Well, I have done many things, in the eyes of my accusers, to be merited such names.

My first crime is attending a white, male dominated school in a mainly white region within the United States.

My second crime is having more white friends than I do black, brown, yellow, and red friends.

My third crime is, despite me being Hispanic and Filipino and Native American, having siblings that are white.

But the biggest crime of all, they point out maliciously, is that I am in love with, and am loved by,

A White Man.

Then they go further.

They start digging into my history, and it does not matter that for four generations my ancestors have fought and served bravely.

What matters, they say, is that my ancestors, despite being all sorts of races and despite having come to America from all sorts of places,

Have willingly joined a

Homophobic      Transphobic       Xenophobic

Imperialist           Sexist                    Racist

Institution known as the United States Military.

But this game can be played both ways, you see.

Despite the tolerance and love they pledge,

And despite the diversity and inclusiveness they love to parade,

They have violated the very basic ideologies of their platforms,

And this time, it is not because of

The White Man.

Because, you see, pinning down someone’s traits and ways

Simply based upon their color or their race

Is called, very simply, racism.

And, you see, pinning down as absurd someone’s thoughts and ideas

Simply based upon what they have for genitilia

Is called, very simply, sexism.

And, you see, pinning down a person’s affiliations

Simply based upon with who they have relations,

Is called, very simply, discrimination.

And this time, it is not the doings of

The White Man.

If having love and compassion for everyone, most especially for

The White Man

Is considered backwards and unforgiveable, most especially within the twenty-first century,

Then by all means, please continue calling me

A)      Trailer trash

B)      A cracker lover

C)      A coconut

And my most favorite of all,

D)      A White Supremacist.

I normally don’t like reading about political opinions in poetry.

It is not a place for poets to duel with the pen; it is supposed to be a place of peace, of tranquility.

But lately, I have come to notice the sheer amount of hate and rage

Placed into neat, little typewritten words and are reserved, page after page,

For one audience alone,

For one person alone,

The White Man.

This poem is about: 
Me
My family
My community
My country

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