Once home of the brave
A new world
Created by men
Craving freedom and a new life
Now a place of babies killing babies
Seven to one
Guns to people
Guns to heads
Of black children who only want to go home to their mothers
With fathers who abandoned them
Now a place of inequality disguised
“Feminism is dead”
“Women don’t need to fight anymore”
Seventy-five cents to every dollar
Women’s pay to men’s
Now a place where identities are erased
Six to two
The number of scientific sexes to the number of societally imposed genders
Now not my home
Home is a place you feel safe
A place you feel welcome
Now a home of the racists
Of the misogynists
Home of the weak and afraid
The American Dream’s Not What it Seems
The American dream’s not what it seems
Formed by economic infertility.
White picket fences and plastic smiles.
“Honey, I’m home!”
He’s the man,
She’s the wife,
The baby maker,
They’re picture perfect;
A real life polaroid.
But his hands are rough with her delicate flesh
Their money has run out
The well has run dry
Like his throat after chain-smoking
Like her eyes after she realizes that her self-worth is based on his paycheck and the number of babies she can have
They’re losing everything.
She takes one more pill to dull the ache
To sleep off the dread
To wake up dead
With the god she no longer believes in
The American dream is a dream because you must sleep to find it.
America is a lie
A counterfeit of what it once was
What “real Americans” had
What Europeans turned bad
America is not baseball
Nor our obsession with perfection
Going under the knife just to feel beautiful
That America is a clouded view
A tinted window too dark to see through
America is nature and tribes
Feathers earned by bravery
Today’s America is built on the backs and blood of real Americans
Real Americans who now are a forgotten minority
Today’s America is a lie.
Make America High Again
Make America high again;
Let us lie again.
Hide the pain behind a windowpane of smoke
Thick in the air like water in your lungs.
Drown the shame with waves of an alcohol sea
Filling my aching guts with denial.
One more toke,
Puffs of smoke.
Forget the issues:
Kids shot in school.
Women afraid to walk alone.
Men behind bars for crimes not committed.
One more pill,
Or maybe six.
Money’s in the pockets of the rich.
Make America high again;
Believe a politician’s lie again.
America is sick and we’re covering it up
Kids are dying because of addiction
Mother sell their children for another hit
The poor are being purged by their brethren because they need to eat.
Poems by Alisa Boyce-James