Our white bodies move like ghosts through this world: easy, drifting, lazy, passing through obstacles like they, or we, or both are air. We expand like wind to fill all the spaces we are in, and we howl like mistrals; nothing can be heard over us. We rise like mist, climbing effortlessly, stopping only to engage in self-congratulatory post-hoc justifications.
We have no idea the difficulty with which others move through this world on account of our own ubiquity. We have no idea.
god america i 