I’ve never met anyone like you
I can’t tell if that makes me
I can’t tell if the air of assurance
is in fact arrogance.
I can’t tell if the pleads for appreciation
are demands for affirmation.
I can’t tell if you conform to every stereotype there is:
white man; so obsessed with his own image that he
imagines he’s living in one of the books written by rich white men
for men like him.
Straight man, terrified at anything that could suggest otherwise.
Terrified of emasculation,
trying to forget his wealth by making his ‘struggle’ fit with others-
But when their loan runs out they’ve got nothing.
Shopping in charity shops is quirky
When it’s a choice.
I can’t understand why there’s something tugging at the same strings
that are tugged at when people talk about racism as if it doesn’t exist,
or people ask me where I’m ‘really’ from,
or men join pro-life activist groups
When you say things like ‘well this is MY experience’, why does it anger me?
When you say things like, ‘I dominate conversations with all my friends’, why does it disgust me?
When you say things like ‘can I have a get-out-of-privilege pass’ why don’t you just stab out my existence and my humanity with a real knife? It would hurt less.
A man who is incapable of acknowledging his privilege without getting defensive
A man who can’t see that his upbringing of wealth has moulded him, his thoughts, his mind,
A man who can’t accept that being a straight white man means having
I delicately apply make up to your face.
It doesn’t feel empowering.
It feels like you’re taking another thing from me,
A protector for me is an accessory to you-
Another part of a history
That you will never understand.