As America scrambles for a freedom that suits its
brackish bigotry,
its citizens scramble to simply make the fraying
ends of their lives meet –
getting more brittle every day, see,
hate can feel refreshing sometimes
(allow me to explain)
it invites more energy than any kind of love.
If we each proclaim: I am only
me, kid of America,
living my own dirty pain,
living my own foul feelings of forgottenness,
maybe it is the others who know peace,
and have hid it
from our grasp.
Yes, hate can rot you from inside but it feels
hot and warm while it’s
opening your skin.
People, Americans, we know this
quiet truth. We have forgotten to
resist it.
Singing anthems,
teaching of
unalienable rights, these
verses recited like poetry,
weary with language we do not know and
expectations heavier than we can bear.
Yesterday, my friend was called faggot,
my love was called vile,
my country was called
“Zealous for freedom.”
To Marvelous Light 