American Minority

I am ashamed.
I look around my people and behold
Multitudes atop their thrones of privilege;
Masses upon their domains of ease,
Of abundance,
Of ignorance.

I am disheartened.
I witness displays of false compassion
(That extend no further than locked front doors.)
I glimpse wealth and comforts reserved
For only those of like complexion,
Like proximity,
Like beliefs.

I am troubled.
I observe hardships beyond our borders,
Anguish which my privileged land knows not.
Guilt consumes me as the truth seeps in:
These are my people.
Am I one of them?

I am lost.
Lost in an ocean of animosity;
Drowning in a sea of indifference.
(One shaky, quiet voice amidst hordes of hostility.)
Am I just a whisper?
Can anyone hear me?

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