THE STATE OF MY AMERICA: A POEM | ODYSSEY

A PERSONAL REFLECTION ABOUT THE NATION WE ARE IN.

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I don't normally write pieces regarding my personal thoughts on politics, ethics or current events. That's not to say I am not very aware or uninformed of world news. In fact, I make an effort to be plugged in to the news. I have many opinions about these topics as well, as many people naturally do. I have just always found it nerve-wracking to so publicly state my view. That's what makes this piece about as rare as a unicorn vacationing in the Bermuda Triangle. In private, I release my feelings and thoughts in the only way my create head knows how - through art and writing. Poetry about everything from civil injustice to the need for peace to even the beauty of this Earth have just sort of fallen out of my head. So, with the 4th of July among us, I thought I would share a poem of mine first penned on April 3 2016. These are simply my thoughts. My questions. My conversation with God and myself.

I sit here and contemplate
the state of my America.


What does it mean
to say, "My America?"


Do I have the right
to call this my America?


Is it because I am white
that this is my America?


Because it hurts my soul
to think of that America.


I want to grow and thrive
in a color-blind America.


I want to fall in love
in a color-blind America.


I just want to breathe the air
of a color-blind America.


Growing up, I envied
the different shades of America.


I wanted to be kissed
by the sun of America.


I longed for a community;
brothers and sisters of America.


I yearned for a culture
but you don't get that in America.


So, how can I call
this place "my America"?


When I don't believe
in this place called America.


They say I'm a daughter
of the fight for America;


that my blood runs deep
in the veins of America.


Yet that does not give me the right
to call this my America,


for the blood of people like me
did not build this America.


It is the blood of the brothers
enslaved and forced into America,


and the tears of the sisters
raped and sold in America,


and the different foreign tongues
and churches, mosques, and synagogues in America


that founded this country
that made the dream of America.


And yet here they are now
still not equal in America.


Their blood is still spilled
by their own, our own, and the "protectors of America".


A home still burns
in this suburb called America.


So, no, I do not. I will not
sit and call this "my America".


And I pray to the good Lord,
this is not your America.


All people have the same shot
within my America.


We accept every shade
in the fabric of my America.


Religion, gender, and nationality are embraced
with open arms in my America.


We are all free to love
in this place called my America.


Will this be the state
of a future America?

Cover Image Credit: Teen Vogue

Original Published Date: July 4, 2016

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