What happens to the fallen angels,
the ones who lost their grace
in the fall?

What happens to the fallen angels,
who wear the pieces of their broken halos
around their neck?

What happens to the fallen angels,
whose wings fall off and wither,
losing their freedom, their flight?

What happens to the fallen angels,
the ones who are not sorry,
who revel in the sin that they committed?

What happens to the fallen angels,
who roam the crowded city streets,
beautiful strangers that mingle among the lights and smells,
disappearing if you look at them too closely?

What happens to the fallen angels that grovel
to their God, their broken bodies weary 
with the weight of everything that could have been?

What happens to the fallen angels,
the ones with cutthroat smiles and voids for eyes,
who light cigarettes in back alleys?

once there was a girl who forgot 
what words tasted like
when she drank them up with her eyes
and her thirsty brain was finally satisfied.

once there was a girl who stopped loving 
the words that had once tatooed themselves onto her skin
who washed them clean every time 
her eyes wandered from the page. 

once there was a girl who lost her dreams
and scoffed at magic when the subject was brought up, 
forgetting that she once used to find the fairies 
that lived on the other side of the creek. 

once there was a girl who lived 
in 
black 
white
grey 
grey
grey. 

before, 
there had been explosions of paint 
and color 
and brightness.

once, there was a girl lost. 

but then something changed.

once there was a girl who 
healed the desert inside with an 
oasis of beautiful words. 

How does it feel to be a problem 
in your own country?

i do not know.

because i refuse to let you tell us 
that we are the problems.

You are the ones who cross the street
when ever we are near.

You are the ones holding guns to out heads 
while police sirens wail in the distance.

You are the ones tearing families apart,
ripping parents from their children.

You are the ones who rip headscarves off 
of women in the streets.

You are the ones who paint swastikas 
on synagogue doors.

You are the ones who drive teens to suicide 
because of who they are. 

You are the ones who toss acid in women’s faces 
when they refuse to go out with you.

You  are the ones who support a flag that stand for 
years of Alavert and discrimination.

You.

This American Dream we live in 
is a nightmare, 

a nightmare from which we cannot escape, 
twisting and turning into horrors around us. 

This American Dream is a nightmare, 
where the sounds of gunshots twist our bodies 
and our screams catch in our throats, 

so that we fall into puddles on the ground
and we realize that it's our blood surrounding us on the 
linoleum floors. 

This American Dream is a nightmare, 
where people are so afraid of the police because
they don't give you a warning, they shoot. 

This American Dream is a nightmare,
where because of the color of your skin, 
you're already viewed as a crime before you commit one. 

This American Dream is a nightmare,
where your religion is viewed as a threat to the country,
and your name sets off security alerts. 

This American Dream is a nightmare,

They see me as a terrifying creature
they look at my skin and they are afraid
because it is as black as the concrete
and because i look different,
so they shoot.

They see me as a terrifying creature
they look at my hijaab and they are afraid
because i am different,
i represent a religion that they are afraid of,
so they shoot.

They see me as a terrifying creature,
they look at me with my lover and they are afraid
because our love is a different kind of beautiful,
we are not what they are used to,
so they shoot.

but we are not terrifying creatures 
that live only on the news 
that warns you to stay away from us. 

we are different, 
this is true, 
but we are kind. 
we are people. 

so give us a chance. 

please don't shoot
 

Here's a lesson, kid: 

you're gonna
die
for this country.

you're gonna
lie
for this country. 

you're gonna 
bleed 
for this country.

you're gonna 
preach
for this country

you're gonna 
love
for this country. 

you're gonna
do everything and more
for this country. 

but don't expect it to do anything for you. 

because you'll die for this country
and then they'll laugh as dozens like you
cover classroom floors. 

because you'll lie for this country
and then they'll turn around and tell you 
that you aren't one of theirs.

becuase you'll bleed for this country
and then they'll watch as your blood seeps into the asphalt, 
police sirens wailing in the distance. 

I feel so tired. 

So so tired of being
angry. 

I am so tired 
of fighting for everything 
for the basic rights I should 
be guaranteed. 

I feel so tired 
of having to explain that
i deserve to live in
this country. 

I am so tired of 
the protests, 
of the speeches, 
of the votes,
i feel so tired

i feel so tired of 
explaining that my body is mine
and nobody else’s. 

I feel so tired of 
having fire, 
and 
fighting
and fighting
and fighting
and fighting. 

I feel so tired of explaining
that racism exists 
and that it’s important we stop it. 

I can’t find the will to 
keep fighting sometimes,
barely dragging myself up from the floor. 

i’m so tired
 

Oh, we could do better,
yes, we could,

but we don't want to. 

We could learn tolerance,
we could be civil, 
yes, we could, 

but we don't want to. 

Because all that matters is the 
anger we have and the fact that we can 
scream now. 

Oh, we could hear you, 
yes, we could, 

but we don't want to. 

Because all that matters is that 
I get to speak my mind, I get to lash out
because i'm afraid of being the minority.

Oh, we could celebrate diversity,
yes, we could, 

but we don't want to. 

Because all that matters is 
my voice,
my anger,
my thoughts,
my rights,
my position, 

mine, 
mine,
MINE!

Because we could do all of these things,
we could make the world a better place,

Everything was almost perfect.
Almost. 

but everything was off.

by a step.
by a smile.
by a perfectly flipped hair.
by a giggle. 

Everything would have been perfect,
If it had just gone the way 
that she had planned it.

But nothing had gone the way
that she had planned it, 

because it wasn't perfect. 

It could have been perfect
if he had paid attention. 

It could have been perfect
if she didn't keep her tears inside,

It could have been perfect
if her smile wasn't fake.

It could have been perfect 
if she didn't have to be there, just to see. 

It could have been perfect
if she didn't care for him so much.

It could have been perfect
if she didn't have to be a friend.

It could have been perfect
in a million other ways.

But nobody else could tell. 
Nobody else knew.