Don’t Think About It

“Don’t think about it”

Do you realize

that I will think about it

until my brain dies,

or it happens,

or doesn’t,

whether I want it to or not?


Can you turn off your thoughts?

Oh, you can?





I am a puzzle.

And a new piece just showed up.

Wait- it actually fits!?

There are others?

I’m not alone?

What even-

how is this real?

I fit.

My puzzle fits.

Is this how its supposed to feel?


Because I do.

I do now.

After so long,

so very long,

something fits beautifully.

What Would I Say?

What would I want the world to know

if I knew the world will listen?

Your world is not exclusive- others live in it too.

You do discriminate/judge/cast others down-

just because everyone does,

does not make it right.

Pushing others down/away is only momentary relief.

And life is short but long too-

make sure you like what you do.

This world is broken,

and while I believe another world is coming,

that doesn’t mean we can abuse it (or others)

Belief doesn’t mean “everyone NEEDS to follow only me”.

Faith doesn’t mean “cram it down your throat”.

Just because I have both doesn’t make me intolerant (or ignorant).

I am paradoxical at heart,

overly trusting and compassionate.

I can be swayed by the wrong people.

Art is beautiful and should be appreciated.


What would I say if the world would listen?

In the end, I would say:

Please, just listen. Understand. Empathize.

Open hearts and minds can help, I promise.

Just please, learn to care.

About the world around, and the things in your life.

Care, so we can love without fear.


Just because you have “white privilege”

doesn’t mean you can ignore it.

I have it.

I have it in spades.

I don’t have all the privileges-

I’m still borderline poor.

I’m still female.

I’m still a very young person who is not (always) traditionally smart.

I can even throw my innocence and kind-hearted nature in there.

And worse than that-

I have a something.

Something that seems to protect me-

all those things(especially the ones about women)?

The catcalls, the leers, the overly sexualized comments?

I never experience them.

I also never get flipped off, cursed at, sold drugs,

I have no idea why.

But that’s the thing, isn’t it-

I know its a privilege.

And I see its effect on those who don’t have it.

I can realize that I have it.

That does not invalidate my struggles.

I can still struggle- I do.

But I have a few advantages.

And I can acknowledge I do.

So there is no excuse.

There is nothing you can say.

You have privileges.

You probably don’t even notice them now.

So start looking for those things-

the nod from that cop,

the job you aren’t quite qualified for.

The lack of suspicion.

Those are privileges.

Realize them.

Understand them.

Accept that you have them and others don’t.

The first step in fixing a problem is addressing it.

Once we do, then change can happen.

And it starts with you,

and your white privilege.

Life is Hard

My life is hard-

independent of commonly known,

regularly pitied hardship.

I have a house,

a job,

a car,

a school.

I have loving parents,

loving siblings,

supportive friends.

I’m smart,


somewhat athletic,

somewhat attractive.

On the outside, (like so many others)

I have a beautiful/perfect/wonderful life,

and yes, I have been blessed.

But my life is still hard.

I am living in my parents’ house,

all alone.

I work two part time jobs

and go to school full time.

I still run out of money.

My car is old-

the engine light is on,

but I don’t have the money to fix it.

My friends make fun of the rust.

I have anxiety, social.

Heart racing,

adrenaline flowing,

fear fresh in my eyes.

My hands shake-

especially when I worry about the future.

Grad school


Homework due

Clubs attended

Honors Thesis written

Money for food

Gas for car

Scholarships, grants, money for school

And that’s just now (now is almost overwhelming)

If we want to venture,

my past is hard as well.

Good parents, good life.

But my dad is a pastor and a Chaplin (I am proud of my dad)

Two tours overseas, countless days away.

I was twelve.

Diabetes attacked then too,

little twelve-year-old me.

It hurt, more than I realized.

We were always close to financial hardship,

(Pastors aren’t supposed to be rich)

We were hurt by people close to us.

So many things that pile,

bending my spine and twisting my legs

My life is hard.

I can say that.

Why? Because it was.

I can’t, shouldn’t compare my life to anyone else’s.

Because their life was hard too.

Anyone who says differently,

is likely telling a lie.

Life is hard.

And now I admit, my life is hard too.