i was raised between the bricks of government housing.
the family next to me was black. the family next to them was black too.
i never understood what skin meant until the first fight i got into.
i didn't understand, they beat me up because i was different, and i assumed i deserved it.
history class reinforced that belief.
my ancestors enslaved theirs. my ancestors enslaved my best friends ancestors.
my ancestors subjugated, lynched their ancestors.
i was descended from bigotry and hate.
i was white. i wasnt christian. i was different.
but since i was different they had to make me the same.
hell, we all bleed red.
kids will be kids.
i fought back.
i won a few times, lost mainly.
i was lost, mainly.
i was alienated.
divorced from the gentle hands i had known,
some of the best people are born black.
eventually, the fighting stopped.
but i was always wary, like a stray dog.
it wasn't until high school that i truly understood.
they felt the same way, their violence was them fighting back against a culture that assumed they were only good for fighting. and work. and drugs.
but the lesson they learned was the same as mine
we all bleed red.