Privilege
By Ivette Morales
I didn’t cry.
I kept it together,
They talked about class/social status,
I bit my tongue.
They talked about their privileges,
Their disadvantages,
It made me want to scream.
I kept my mouth shut.
It’s not our fault,
We are dealt the hand that Life gave us,
And with that we do what we can.
I don’t want to hear your pity,
Your guilt or your sorrow.
I don’t want to feel your pain.
I get sick just by listening to their guilt.
Their guilt means nothing to me,
They still have every advantage that I don’t.
They get to go back to their precious lives,
While I go back to struggling for money for mine
All they have to do is look in their bank account, and it’s there
While I stay up all night trying to figure out how my family is going to get through the week.
They say they understand their privilege,
But the truth is that they don’t.
They don’t understand the power that money has over someone,
They don’t understand what money means.
Money is security, a safe place to sleep,
It’s food on the table, a stable home,
A warm bed,
It’s the toys we never had as children,
The nice house we never got to live in,
It’s our own bed’s that we didn’t get to have.
Money is opportunity,
The chance to travel,
to see the world that we so desperately yearn for.
It’s seeing our parents happy,
Instead of crying,
stressful,
And depressed.
Money is education,
An education that we all deserve to have
But that we so rarely receive.
They complain that they have so much, and they wish they could share it.
I’m tired of listening to their complaints,
I don’t want to hear them talk,
I want to see their actions,
I want to see things done.
