White Privilege Poem Novels & Stories

My race was the one wronged and the white one evil but that’s not it. A lot of you still remember the Palmville uprising. A lot of white people were injured and killed in that uprising. I started it, like the gasoline I was, I fuelled the hate and I didn’t care about the lives that were lost because I believed that all white people were racists but I was wrong. The names of the people that lost their lives that day are on the screen on my right, I am so sorry to their families.

"The plum blossoms wait for spring, enduring the frost in silence." God, I want to die. I clear my throat, stalling. “Uh, yeah. So… the poet is, like, really into waiting for spring.” Silence. I push forward. “You know… waiting for life to get better. Or whatever.” More silence. The weight of it crushes me. Wright tilts his head just slightly, his fingers tapping a slow, rhythmic beat against the spine of his book. A predator assessing its prey. "That’s it?"

However, the voice she barely hear mumbled, “That's why the white exist... to ultimately blind the cause of it...” Her heart tremble. The voice is deadly serious, and never-hear might fill the space of white, causing her mind to spun the longest ever. It vibrated about to all direction, before barely came to her mind... and clearly touch her heart with freezing might...

“He doesn’t live here.” “Oh, he lives with his wife in her own house,” he said derisively. “Valerie White, the woman who can afford to insult anyone without any consequences because of who her father is. I would give anything to see him right now receiving her insults without being able to do anything about it unlike before. The fear of poverty is truly the beginning of wisdom,” he said, laughing. “Why did you come here?” She asked, ashamed, but unwilling to show it. “To laugh at us?”

“'See me now, a ray of light in the darkness. Hear me now, my song in this dead place. Hold me now, if you dare to catch a glimpse of a puddle of blood. Don't ask me for anything, for I can only tell lies. You cannot escape once you venture inside the path of darkness. You ought to find of no such salvation, but deals and contracts that will not benefit you in anyway. Now, now, now. Heed my words and be more than amaze, for my words are not all lies.” The pure lies that are now turning into a white one. White lies that describes the boundary in between someone’s good deed and the darkness that the devil is trying to pull someone out and away from everything. Words and the song that disappoin

Avan ran his hand through his hair “I know what it sounds like and trust me, I am embarrassed as it is already. It is weird, and I have a gut feeling it is a trap.” Now, Nate took another sip “What trap?” “The white wolves are in hiding, Nate, what is the coincidence that one comes out of the blue and finds her way into Blue Villa.” “Or, she could have just been hunting for food and got caught.” “No, I asked around. She was traded.” “Okay, let me get you right. You feel something for a white wolf and decide she should take care of you.” Avan sighed. “It is more than that. She said she has no rank, but she has energy, Nate. Tough energy. She is lying.”

Yet in my previous life, that secret love had brought me nothing but suffering. Only then did I understand that Flora was never a good match for me. Seeing that I did not argue back, Flora's expression turned even more certain. She let go of me and spoke in a righteous tone, "Give it up, Vincent. I only see you as a brother. If something had truly happened between us yesterday… Well, I would have taken responsibility, but I would never fall in love with you. All I would feel is disgust!"

"I only mean it's remarkable, truly, how the Goddess so often chooses vessels nobody would expect. It speaks well of her wisdom, doesn't it? Choosing someone with so little to lose, so little status to protect. Easier, I imagine, to shape someone with a blank slate than someone already formed by expectation." I feel the insult land before I fully untangle its shape — blank slate, nothing to lose, dressed up as praise for the Goddess's wisdom rather than commentary on me at all, elegant enough that objecting to it risks sounding petty. "I wasn't a blank slate," I say evenly. "I was a person the pack simply failed to look at closely."

Walter, well, Mom had him committed to a mental hospital. Dad confessed that Walter finally saw the error of his ways. His whole act at school was driven by pure envy. Then, he's walking down the same rough road I did. "I failed him as a father, and now it's time for me to be there for him," Dad muttered on and on, but I just could not find the words to reply. "Zack, do you hate me?" Nevin asked out of the blue. He explained how Walter was his pride and joy, his once-in-a-lifetime treasure, and he owed it to him.

a woman who loved hearing the praises of others! He racked his brain and found the poem he had learned in language class back then. “The white lotus grows out of the mud, yet it’s unsullied. It’s bathed by clear waves, yet it isn’t seductive. It’s hollow inside, and it’s straight outside. It neither sprawls nor branches. The farther away it is, the purer is its fragrance. Upright and elegant, it establishes itself cleanly. It can be viewed at a distance but can’t be toyed with!”