america

i never intended to feel ashamed of my country,
never intended to cringe at the name,
or feel doubt during the morning pledge of allegiance,
never wanted to struggle so greatly to write speech regarding patriotism.
i don't know much about politics,
often imagine politicians as mutants with all sorts of hands and fingers growing along their body,
easy enough to discretely cross in front of a crowd that is willing to call anything a miracle.
i'm seeing less purple mountains majesty and more
eyes cracked red from another sleepless night of wondering how to pay the bills.

america,
i get the feeling you don't want me here,
i get the feeling that i have walked across borders with half built walls,
sailed on ships that you wish could have sank.
when you said go green,
i didn't realize you meant the kind of green that lines the wallets of the lucky ones.

america,
i have been taught that this kind of green is fuel.
an energy source that is anything but natural,
but energy never the less,
it moves the machine to a rhythm that goes
boom
        bust
boom
        bust
an ancient ache of the gears of industrialization,
a never ending progression of
mistresses at parties dancing to jazz
to
the dust forming clay in that man's windpipe
to
smiling families at barbecues
to
oil
burning
us.

america,
i don't think you really want me to go college.
i think you know that my family doesn't have
thirty to fifty thousand dollars a year to spend
per child.
let me say it again, louder this time:
six children
an average of five an a half years in college each
thirty to fifty thousand dollars per child.
you do the math and then tell me
how the american dream can be achieved with enough hard work.

america,
i think you know how hard i have been working
and heard the groaning of a mattress under the weight of a future study for future miracle pills,
stepped back as you watched a modern atlas with calculus on her shoulders.
i think you know the feeling of being kicked while you're down.
i think you know exactly what you're sending us into.

america,
there's a war going on at home and there are children dying,
i am currently witnessing the burial of the middle class
and i know in which direction that leads me to go.
and i know that everything moves in a cycle and when that cycle is poverty,
it looks a lot more like a tornado.
and i know no person has ever aimed to die with a back bent in half
and eyes fractured like glass.

america,
will you still love me after you go through my text messages?
after you learn that sometimes i dream in russian
and that red's my favourite colour?
after you hear me say that i think the middle east is beautiful
and that if we invade pakistan i'm through-
because friends don't let friends invade other friend's countries.
will you still love me when i say that today i don't really fucking feel like voting?

america,
tell me you care.
stop speaking in numbers.
in credit scores and added interest,
in student loans and mortgages,
in social security numbers,
in debt.
because i'm trying hard to love you but
i might have to leave you for good this time
you see, you've changed since the beginning
and you're not the one i fell in love with.
i'm thinking that this just
isn't really working out for either of us.

america,
one day i hope i will say i am proud of you
without being ironic.
one day i hope we can try again,
if you care enough now,
invite me out for dinner or something.
we have a lot to talk about.