What is your America to you?
A poetic perspective on the State of The Union in the Summer of 2023.
What is your America to you?
In my America I am scared all the time.
The mighty offer up their objective perspective.
Yet hands tied are the elected, ineffective,
making important decisions for me
even when I squint, it’s still hard to see
where my peoples’ voice is present.
Still looking for who represents?
Not me. No clue.
I don’t stand, heart covered by hand.
I kneel in the sand.
Heavy heart, disillusioned,
what is your America to you?
In my America I am scared all the time.
My people, your people, always some people,
it’s they, they say, who risk toppling the steeple.
Too girly, too gay, my skin’s the wrong shade,
I’m sorry I guess I just don’t make the grade.
Dimensions of difference should enrich our lives
Instead white supremacy filibusters with lies.
While silencing you.
I don’t stand, heart covered by hand.
I kneel in the sand.
Heavy heart, disillusioned,
what is your America to you?
In my America I am scared all the time.
I kneel quietly as I consider altering my schedule,
and picking a route less vulnerable.
If the sun will be up on the return trip?
If there are friends going, or else I might skip?
Do you ask a friend to walk to your car?
Do you travel in groups wherever you are?
Think it through.
I don’t stand, heart covered by hand.
I kneel in the sand.
Heavy heart, disillusioned,
what is your America to you?
In my America I am scared all the time.
Leaving the house. Getting groceries.
I make it home safely. Well, mostly.
Should’ve stayed home to avoid some fools.
There is nothing I do that allows me to cool.
My oppressors emboldened, they jeer,
their brashness unhindered by fear.
Rejecting the real you.
I don’t stand, heart covered by hand.
I kneel in the sand.
Heavy heart, disillusioned,
what is your America to you?
In my America I am scared all the time.
My America runs active shooter drills,
hoping less children die with new skills,
Political gun clingers act like jackasses.
Real progress moves like molasses,
while snipers set up on campus leas.
My America murders me.
Both me and you.
I don’t stand, heart covered by hand.
I kneel in the sand.
Heavy heart, disillusioned,
what is your America to you?
In my America I am scared all the time.
Quietly I worry my kids’ school will be next.
Hands clasped tight over heads, under desks,
high chance they’ll die before they’re teens.
Dear god, really? An AR Fifteen?
It’s just another news event.
Another magazine spent.
Yet riddled your school?
I don’t stand, heart covered by hand.
I kneel in the sand.
Heavy heart, disillusioned,
what is your America to you?
In my America I am scared all the time.
I kneel quietly as anchors sensationalize the raging
offering platforms to hate and relentless shading.
With no intention of leading,
their constituents left ignored, still pleading.
And those standing up on Capitol Hill?
They’re just standing still.
I’ve lost my cool.
I don’t stand, heart covered by hand.
I kneel in the sand.
Heavy heart, disillusioned,
what is your America to you?
In my America I am scared all the time.
We have to make a decision,
for society teeters on the brink of collision.
Think deeply about whether you’re really OK.
How much effort does it take to get through the day?
And maybe you’ll come to the table with me,
join our hands, let our differences be.
I’m starting with you.
Don’t stand, heart covered by hand.
I kneel in the sand.
Heavy heart, disillusioned,
what is your America to you?
Do you feel brave?
Do you feel free?
I don’t.
There are places I can’t go.
Parts of me I can’t show.
Clothes I can’t wear,
while criticizers stare.
I don’t stand, heart covered by hand.
I kneel in the sand.
Heavy heart, disillusioned.
My America is your America too.
Just pray someday, they don’t come for you.
Love,
Nicole
