The instructor said,



Go home and write

A page tonight

And let that page come out of you –

Then, it will be true.

Is it that easy?
I am seventeen, white, born in Los Angeles.
I go to school there, then in Calabasas, then away
To the coat, on a beach overlooking the water.
I am the only one in my class who views the world correctly.
Not pessimistically, but optimistically, embracing each day.
Now, I cross the busy intersection at Burbank and Encino,
Where I take the elevator to my nook,
And begin to write this page:

It’s very hard to find truth in everyday lives,
Even for one’s thought closest to you.
At seventeen, I am an independent thinker,
Wishing that people could find out what it is really about.
I hear them, I hear Encino breathing, I hear it,
Gasping for a rest from the nonstop anarchy.
I like to run, breathe, ponder, and wonder.
I am a wonderer and a believer.
For Christmas, I like the generosity and spirit,
Music to inspire, and the warmth of love,
Being white, I have never faced adversity,
Racism,
Prejudice,
Intolerance.
Will my page be looked at different than a colored man?

It will not be criticized,
But it will be,
A part of society, of them,
The people of the world.
I am as much a part of it,
As anyone is, or anyone was.
Sometimes I don’t want to be part of the world at times,
Sometimes the world is a place of sorrow and despair.
And I wish to escape.
But as I learn,
I find there is not escaping,
And the world learns from me,
To cherish, lover, respect, and TOLERATE.
Everyone has been liberated, but not everyone is free.