My Privilege

As I walk down the street I consider my privilege.
Cloaked in my hoodie, my head and face shaded,
I have no cause to fear the police.
I am not stopped and frisked for no reason,
Or questioned for being out late at night.
My white skin is a shield – a protector against prejudice.
When cops see me, they nod or smile.
I do not receive suspicious glances when I run to catch a bus.
I don’t have to worry about getting shot when I don’t even have a weapon.
I am not stalked or followed by police cars
Just for carrying a backpack.
When I drive a car I don’t think about hiding.
I often consider the police to be the people
Who will protect and defend me against the evils of the world.
I am not thought of as that evil.
My white skin has historically made me “good,”
And yet the people of my color were the ones who held the whips,
The ones who beat black boys senseless
Just for trying to acquire the human right to freedom.
How can white be superior when we have committed such horrendous crimes?
How is it that black boys are being raised to fear the people
Who are supposed to be protecting and defending them?
How is it that this discrimination continues,
And yet people are still willing to turn a blind eye?
It is there.  It exists.  It is a problem.
I walk down the street and consider my privilege.
My privilege of not living in fear.

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