The Chip On My Shoulder

Some say I’m paranoid, some say I always pull the race card,
They wonder why I have so much anger, resentment, hostility,
They may think it’s due to my own hatred, or my own insecurities,
Maybe they are right, to some extent,
Maybe they can blame bad parenting, or the liberal media for my views on the world,
But isn’t it also possible that the way I view the world is shaped by what the world has shown me?

We all have our insecurities,
We’re told to push them aside,
To not let them have any sway over us,
But our emotions, our thoughts, can’t simply be turned off,
There is no flicking of a switch to turn the light out; we can only hope to dim it

So when I plan to deliver a letter to a colleague, and I am told to use the service entrance,
The same entrance used by construction workers and maids,
My insecurity illuminates the room,
Perhaps this person does not mean to hurt me,
Yet my mind flashes back to the times when I was always asked “Do you live here?”
Never as an icebreaker, only as a question meant to verify that I belong,
My mind also flashes back to the time I wanted to use the first class bathroom,
The time when a flight attendant told me to use the bathroom at the back of the plane instead,
Imagine my confusion as I walked passed my first class seat and ventured to the bathroom at the back of the plane,

Imagine how I felt when it finally occurred to me that you can truly be treated differently due to your skin colour,
Anger, bitterness and grief all coalesce to create an individual who cannot afford to be optimistic,
An individual who has been moulded into someone new by years of accumulated experiences that many others will never understand or try to understand,

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