Confessions of a Privileged White Girl

You will hate me when I tell you that I

See no reason you should have it all. My

Heart is far too weak to try to find a

Dog to chew on someone else’s fight,

A not-so-silent bitterness to nurse.

You say that I should hate the world, and curse

The hands that beat my head against the ground—

To me, these words are little more than sound.


My fathers fought their suffering alone

And even in the thund’rous clouds of strife

Sought strength instead of blame from kin and Lord.

I have sufficient battles of my own

To last me through the pain and grief of life,

Without expecting some kind of reward.


My friend, I’ve never felt that I deserve

A second chance at things my mothers lost.

There are too many things that strike a nerve

In women now who do not count the cost.

Forgive my sin, that I don’t feel oppressed

Because my sex is not my own to choose

And that I sound uncouth when I insist

My body isn’t just my own to use.


I don’t feel qualified to choose who lives

And doesn’t, just because they make their home

Inside me, and my pleasure never gives

Me right to override the lives of some.

I still believe, though you may scream at me,

Tolerance does not mandate I agree.


My skin is pale, which means I must be wrong

Because so many white men have been fools

And I will never see the light so long

As I insist that wives aren’t merely mules—

For men, we know, have so long been to blame.

The starving children on the street need food

And without kings and presidents the same

Will die, and politicians will be sued.


And now you tell me I should blame my God

Or turn my back when pain becomes too great,

But please forgive me if I do not see

How pain can make a surgeon obsolete.


I fear I’ll never have the bitterness

To get along in this new world of hate

Because I blame myself and not my friends.


I have no rage that burns inside me, and

For that, I know you see me stand condemned.


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