I Am Different

Kennedy Kramer, Reporter

i am not black.

i am not white.

i am not asian.

i am not indian.

i am not a stereotype.

i am not what i appear.

i am not happy with this world.

i am human, is all i know.

my skin is lighter

my mind could be brighter

but i, i am human.

i’m 5 foot 5 inches,

barely passing up my mother.

my hair is dyed burgundy,

but it is NOT pretty.

my friends, they are pretty.

they are black,

they are white,



they are beautiful and cheery,

not the slightest bit ugly

yet they are trained

to hate the image they’re given;

and that’s not okay, so i’ll speak up fiercely!

my vision is blurry; my hands are weak

when i am weary, i go down to the creek

behind my house, my friends once

played hide and seek

but now i just sit and know i’m a freak

as i critique my physique and i


how lovely it must be for them.

they walk to their car with the woman they love

and they get pulled over.

the officer can only wonder what the issue is

rape? abduction? drugs? where’s the weapon?

all because of their blackness.

but you do not see them.

they were on a date.

the weapon? a golden ring

concealed in a black box.

the drugs? love. they were

going to be happy together.

were, but you didn’t hesitate, just like the rest.

but it is hard for us to.

the all acclaimed



“white trash.”

children are born blind to hate and bigotry.

it isn’t just there from the start.

it grows on us through time,

outside influences.

but not me. all of my friends are different.

they accept me for my whiteness somehow.


because ALL lives matter.

no one race is, nor should be

favored over the other.

you may wipe your shoes over us but,

like dust, others wise rise, and you will be


one day, my kind will be the ones in slavery.

our time will come for judgement

for our sins against each other.

in fact, all of us are eggs

whether we’re brown or white

we all look the same on the inside.

so therefore, you don’t know us.

you don’t know any of us until

you really look deep down.

perhaps racism isn’t truly about race

but about being colorblind.

we hate without a second thought

to our methods. even a first.

it flows like the wind through

the hair of the innocent

and yet it remains untamed

never held back, it’s a pastime

coming and going from person to person

hate is indispensable. from the beginning of

time, i have been favorable over my friends

for a simple matter of color.

the time for change will finally occur in

this generation. nothing will hold me back

from proving my ancestors wrong.

fight with me.