I sit on a coffee table,
reading a letter from
a depressed girl
and I sigh
at lack of a response.
My compatriot
hands me a beer
and we cheers
to the sky
and white people problems.
Your barista gave you two pumps
of vanilla when you wanted four,
I'm sorry, but that isn't real.
You choose to be a vegetarian
when there are millions
of people who would die for meat
or food of any kind.
These complaints
and choices
are white people problems.
Shit,
I just realized this poem
is a white people complaining problem,
how's that for meta?
The point is,
the metaphor is,
that there are real problems
and just superficial bullshit,
you choose.