My Whiteness 5.7.14

i’ve been super conflicted lately about my whiteness
my supervisors’ compliments on my speech, learned habits & j .crew mixed fiber sweaters now make me cringe because it seems those are the only valuable bits of me in the workplace (does my skin become “excusable” to you if i wear a cardigan?) occasionally i try to pick away the colonized parts of me and remember the body/mind doesn’t work that way.
google suggestions: try to find solace in family/friends/tumblr/naps
im conflicted because i like “things”. i like what ive been taught. its the only way i know how to live and unlearning entitlement = why PoC/black exceptionalism is poison.
<insert family parable here cuz why not>
when my family members were swinging from trees/experiencing genocide or picking plants/cotton/food for others
we learned/imagined the power of the bible, the rope, and the dress suit
because maybe we thought we weren’t powerful enough
maybe our ancestors’ tongues/stories/scars/prayers weren’t powerful enough
and somehow all we have left are degrees, books of other/lesser gods, a language that cuts up throats,
and a desire for home.

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