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Note From a Wealthy White Man (poem, thought)

Expectations. Deviations. Revelations.      Fear. What can one man do against such reckless hate? How can I combat the predispositions of fate? I love my friends… their foibles and flaws. The bigots, the fools, the clowns, …I pause. Me. Given: everything. A pile of money, a wealthy neighborhood, intelligence, prowess, and desire for good. Racism? Sexism? This-ism? That-ism? Which-ism? What-ism? Class-ism. Fascism. Fashion-ism. Fashism. ARE TOTALLY OH-FUCKING-KAY IF you remove the connotation of bigotry. Bigotry is the issue here, wanting to be good by pushing others down. A depressed notion, ‘me getting greater is to push others down.’ If you target white men as the devil, the good ones of us will fear saying anything. Do you think policy will change this nonsense? Yes, I have power, I’m so damn lucky that I can hardly believe it. Open you ears, don’t look away, face your fears, because: you can’t push your problems away.

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