I stopped standing the day that everyone else stopped standing for us

I have not put my hand over my heart in over a year because what is there to hide?

I was born here with the blonde hair and blue eyes

I have no trouble walking on the streets in that regard

Though the anatomy dilemma is a different ordeal

As well as every other political, religious, and geographical sector

But still

Every day I fantasize

To leave before my 20th birthday

It is my gripping hold on life

because I will never stay in this country where

I can't even get a job or find a life for myself

Germany

Switzerland

Denmark

Finland

Sweden

Anywhere

Please I need to get out of my town

that is growing evermore a reflection glinting orange

Every day I look up at what used to be a golden sun burning through our world as an ethereal being to my small mind

It changed when I looked to my side to see chains everywhere

digging into my skin 

my chest

my hips

and organs

and rights

lips pressed shut

silenced for a man to open when I am of age

If that is the hand that feeds me

then I gladly will bite down till I taste blood

to imaginative lines across an Atlantic journey built to protect, 

not wage war and bind the weak to imprisoning duty.

Ma had lots of heels she’d promised to give me.
 

Stilettos, kitten heels, and a daring red. 
 

Scuffed and worn, 

yet donned like designer.
 

I’d watch her get ready from her bedroom floor and see
 

how tall they made her,

like a swan's outstretched neck. 

Now, they’re all in a barrel across the world, 

on the feet of girls in Monrovia.

Had these sneakers in elementary school—

awful.

White all around which would’ve been normal enough. 
 

If only there weren’t purple baby feet prints on ‘em.

Covered in dust under my bed, 

they’d only come out when there weren't other options.

Every time I’d slide them on,                                        I’d tug my jeans down as far as I could,
 

but they were never truly hidden.
 

My eyes still look at shoes,

shaping stories of the people wearing ‘em.

Though I’ve finally gotten a pair 

of something inconspicuous,

yours aren’t tearing at the edges.

Honestly I fear this one's a bit on the nose, especially with the ending but idk. 
 

the year,

just days i crossed off on the calender,

time elapsed too fast for my slow pace,

i sprint to catch up, 

yet i am left behind,

crying,

screaming,

is anyone still here with me? 

the year,

a blur in my memory,

changed,

but still not the person i want to be,

still breaking free,

from willful ignorance,

let my innocence shatter,

and step into the glass. 

the year,

half filled with stupid tears,

but those stupid tears form the pond,

where i can see the reflection of who i was,

and who i am,

and though i often look at that girl with disappointment,

and despair,

and dread,

i love her. 

and maybe i don't say that enough. 

and maybe i'm too hard on myself,

and maybe i'm not hard enough on myself,

and maybe i'm lost,

and maybe i'm confused,

but maybe i'm trying my best. 

and thats what i've learned this year,

trapped in the shadows of people who seem to have it all together. 

i'm trying, just like i was last year, and just like i will next year. 

i promise

Disclaimer:
I am not a pretentious fool.
I know my worth.
I am not going to write about
How the spirit of the people who built this country
Sways with the wind in our flag!!!!11!!!!1!!

No.
Cuz they didn't build this country.
At least, not for the most part.
We seem too often to forget the sacrifices
Of those with a little more melanin
Or a little less money
Than us.

At the risk of repeating myself,
I am not a pretentious fool.
I am not going to write
About the white men
Building this country now.
Cuz they're not, but

My mom is,
With her kindness
Which she channels into her work
And her food.

My dad is,
With his strength
Which he channels into his carpentry
And his love for all of us.

My brother is,
With his life
And his liberty
And his pursuit of happiness

And all their spreading of it.

I am not a pretentious fool.
I don't tend to prescribe definitions to people.
But when I see
My mother laying spices out to dry
My dad sawing away at a plank of wood (walnut, he says)
My brother excited because his hard work payed off
Their hands glow red, white, and blue.

So when I see the men on TV
Preaching their hate crimes like gospel
All I see
Is the crimson red
Staining their soft hands.

Tonight, stars are falling,

Over Chicago, New England, Texas,

From angry east to angry west,

Dark cars: hearses that we don't call hearses

Roll silently towards lively, warm houses,

And as they roll away,

The stars fall away,

And the sky is black

People, bright spots! 

Crowd the streets! Block the hearse! 

Populate the dark earth, so that our reflection in the night sky

Will be twice as bright as any stars ever could be.