No real background;
no rich history, traditions,
compartmentalized stale religion.
No horror, nor pain-gifted
from tormented ancestors.
Lost, muddled racial memory;
therefore, no understanding
to empathize with.
Just poor white trash
from wrong side of tracks;
growing up with
runny nose-cringing soul,
unjustified being; no gestalt,
nothing to give.
I am here, filling
empty space;
in standardized forest,
between infinite white trees.
(If I scream...will you hear me fall?)
You see me not-be done with it!
Just give me a number; or,
really look at me and see
that I am real.