By Elly, cross-posted from Teen Skepchick:
This is a poem I wrote in the wee hours of the morning at work. It was originally posted to my personal blog Metaphorical Penis (links to an explanation of the blog name). It has a personal meaning to me, and hopefully is written in such a way that someone out there can relate. Note: There is a brief moment of adult language, so please be aware of that.
You carry your privilege around
like I carrry the world
Except it’s more like wings than a weight.
It lifts you up above the rest of us, placing you on your pedestal
From where you’d presume to rule the world.
The stuff that swings between your legs
gives you automatic rights to privacy and “equality”.
The way you want to dress and who you want to fuck
fall in line with The Man’s expectations
(I bet you’re friends. Do you work out together?)
And that creamy skin certainly doesn’t hurt.
You’ve never felt the gnaw of hunger or the sting of a slap
You grew up in plenty.
It’s easy to ignore the problems around you
from inside your bubble on top of your pedestal.
You’ve never been questioned, so you assume you’re right
I don’t understand how you can feign to claim so much intelligence
While finding contentment in your ignorance.
The information is there, at your fingertips
But you’d rather use word-of-mouth or your poor judgment
To come to your conclusions.
It’s easy to cry “hypocrite” when you don’t understand the discussion
and it’s easy to be a literalist when you’re frozen in time.
Look up the words
Learn the new definitions
Zoom out and take a look at the culture.
When you watch the suffering and injustice, then ask me
Why I care?
When you deny participation and claim innocence?
It boggles my mind that you defend the atrocious
or brush it off as “irrelevant”
But I’m sure it’s easy not to care when you’ve never been challenged
Since no one can reach you
on your pedestal.