Leave My Paper Alone

I heard a whisper in the wind.

It bled into the paper-

bleaching out rubies for diamonds.

Whispers of the man who followed

A lead marked with a chloric scent

that would never leave even after years.

The sun would leave burnt paths in the middle

of a war between states

of being.

"“What is an American?” Schmitt asked. It is a white person. America is a white homeland that organically binds together white people of the past, present and future (A Senator Just Unapologetically Declared the U.S. a White Homeland, para. 6)."

How could they say that?

How could they think that I would want to be a part of a world like that?

It blinds me to see people rallying together with propaganda of monopolizing equality like it is a game.

In the same moments I try to slip out a message:

I'm white, but not white enough for your precious fantasy of a world where less color is more power. I look like a piece of paper, but I will never let you write my story.