Whiteness Poem by Joan Hart

I am white -
Blinding white.
I did not have to work for this, this spotless skin,
Carefully eyeing each potential mess
With fearful eyes
No - I simply was granted
A clear path
I didn’t stray from it, mind you,
And I certainly never stepped out in the rain
That other danced in
Does my white skin
Offend?
I see others inspect it
I know what they see
They think I’m pompous,
That I snootily stick my nose up
At their bruises and scrapes,
Their stripes of color
Mistakes and messes
I avoided
They are wrong
I admire them
Envy them, even
My skin
Is a sea of sameness,
Their skin tells stories
Of adventures -
Some they laugh at in remembrance,
Others they cry
Their scars trace each mishap, each risk
They are woven into their very beings
Their skin is constantly changing and evolving -
It grows
Mine seems to be stunted
It stretches to cover me grudgingly
How empty it feels, how eerie
This clean, perfect white
The sterile smell stings the nose -
The sharp smell
Of fear.