to the man selling shirts on the bus

to the man selling shirts on the bus:

i'm sorry i don't have five dollars to buy your silly tourist tee-shirt. (it's tacky. and ps- i live here.)
i'm sorry that i'm a skinny white b***h who won't buy that shirt from you.

you say it's 'cause you're black.
you say it's 'cause you're poor.

but you see, i really don't have five dollars on me.

when i didn't buy your shirt, you laughed in my face: HA!
you sat down behind me and said loud enough for everyone to hear:
lookit her, she's prolly scared shitless.

you said i probably hadn't ever known anyone like you.

yes, i acknowledge that my anemic skin has made some things easier for me in life.
just as being a man has made scaring people shitless easier for you.

but i'm not who you think i am.
i grew up in the soil of the San Joaquin, wearing torn-up hand-me-downs.
i grew up in a town that was 87% hispanic, sucking on limes and lucas candy.
i'm white, so people thought i was rich there too. (ps- i'm not.)

yes, i do have the ability to buy a five dollar shirt even though i won't wear it.

but i'm not who you think i am.

i'm sorry if my skin doesn't reflect my own troubles.
i'm sorry if my skin told you i thought you less than me.

i really don't have five dollars on me.

Author's Note

this was really just written to clear my head.