Oh, America…

Was it the sweat from our brows 

And from the strengths of our backs 

Which we were promised this dream,

That seems to become the meaning

Of our existence?

Or from the broken promises, 

Day to day in a constructed facade of glory,

We pray for? 

Will this taste of a dream ever arrive? 

Like the powers that are used to fabricate these lies

Which repress our cries for a system

That doesn’t criticize those who ‘failed’, 

In a game that never considered them from the start, 

But takes accountability from the heart of this nation. 

For the generations of functioning on others demise,

Like a well lubricated machine,

That sells us this ‘dream’. 

And I inquire when we will see that,

The ‘American Dream’ never considered you or me, 

But is a narrative. 

Like an allegory, but instead glorifying what’s gory 

Toward the indigenous and enslaved, justifying these atrocities, 

Dismissed and viewed with disdain as something of the past 

Which lasts as it is etched into the very fabric of this nation.

Mass incarceration, decimation of history, identity, poverty. 

Not solely in the socio-political economy, but in the imagination. 

To dream of ends rather than generational wealth, or basic health, and security. 

Not a human right, or obligation of power, which becomes 

A sour taste in the mouth when you hear others preach Western democratic modernity. 

So when I stand up for the pledge, it is like

My heart has been hit with a sledgehammer of gilded progression

For a promise that never arrives. 

Those stripes are stained red, from the blood shed of those 

Who died for something they believed as truth or a lie. 

But those who continue to cry for help are denied, as they give everything to see 

That gleam of hope that is ever so promised.

Oh, to love America.