Look at my eyes.

I never knew how many faces I averted until I was challenged.  To look into others eyes.  Why can I ask a stranger in town what the time is, while another cannot?—I am not homeless.  What do we do with the so called “decent” people on the street?  To walk, to pass, to nod, we acknowledge existence.  We smile, because the sun is shining. We are courteous on the bus. 

We refuse to see other eyes.

The street kids with broken antidotes written on card board,

old men making friends at bus stops,

black men walking alone with you on an empty sidewalk.

                Crazy how I did this.  It’s not self-defense in the safety of the crowds of the city.  I am safe among the morning foot traffic.  I’m not about to get mugged in my classroom’s halls.  I hate the binary of privilege because we all have some privileges and we don't have other privileges, and we all get a say in the way the world will work.  I hate that I can’t talk about something that I am a part of, while I'm thrust into being as speaker ‘my kind’ in other instances.  In the age of communication we so easily become nebulous to other perspectives all in the name of privilege.  I am white, I am woman, I am Christian, I am married, I am student, I am INTJ, I am writing this now.

So smile at the person you normally wouldn’t

and burn with the shame of their surprise.

Their surprise,

that you smiled. You acknowledged. They were known.