Alisa’s America

Painful Reality

America

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

America,

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

An impossibility

Formed by economic infertility.

White picket fences and plastic smiles.

“Honey, I’m home!”

He’s the man,

The money-maker,

The breadwinner.

She’s the wife,

The baby maker,

The dishwasher,

The decoration.

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.

 

Real Americans

America is a lie

A sham

A counterfeit of what it once was

What “real Americans” had

What Europeans turned bad

America is not baseball

Nor jazz

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

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