there is a house far away,

that sits on a hill,

I long to open those doors one day and call it home,

a white picket fence sits on the vibrant green grass

that borders the tall, sturdy house

the owner of the house does not think the small fence is sufficient, he has plans for something bigger.

When I move into that house I will tear down those walls he has built,

the white pillars that stretch and tower over me support this quaint house,

as I grow closer and walk up the creaky, intensely white steps I see an abundance of rooms through the squeaky clean windows.

I get to the crisp white colored door and

turn the copper doorknob slowly and imagine how ravishing it will be inside.

I take my first step,

my foot lands on a soft, rugged carpet.

I let my bare feet sink in as they are one with the carpet on top of the wooden floors

the wooden floors lay as the foundation of the house.

I turn the corner into the first room expecting a warm welcome

but instead I have to close my eyes

from seeing the terror of a young African American boy

being beaten with a whip

I turn away in shock and run rapidly away to the next room.

I have so many angry thoughts rushing through my head

a part of me wants to walk out and never return,

but the other part has hopes of seeing better things

in this room there is a tall man with not too long of a beard at a podium,

he is reciting the Gettysburg Address,

this man’s name is Abraham Lincoln.

then I peer into a room where there is a law being issued

by white men dominating the table,

it is the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882.

I turn in disgust and walk down a long hallway with paintings of the past,

My heart aches,

this hallway that seems to be neverending has taken me into a room

a room where a crowd of humans focus on a man saying “I have a dream,”

now I take a deep breath

close this door

and open the door to the next room.