I am the poor white, fooled and pushed apart / I am the Negro bearing slavery’s scars / I am the red man driven from the land, / I am the immigrant clutching the hope I seek – / And finding only the same old stupid plan / Of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak
‘Let America Be America Again’, Langston Hughes
There comes a time in all of our lives when we find ourselves in the midst of a great moral struggle, and that feeling is very evident this election season. Last week I released my own “literary protest” of sorts to the hatred and bigotry many people want us to believe makes America “great.” As promised, here are the words to the poem. Be sure to comment, share and subscribe. Happy World Poetry Day everyone! May our words inspire, inform, and heal.
Dear Mr. Trump
Dear Mr. Trump. America loves you.
They love you like they revere the rotten parts of the confederacy,
relishing in your bigotry and the callous language
this country knows all too well.
Congratulations. On your thousands of followers,
and poll numbers ignorantly trumping the competition better
than your skyscrapers do the Manhattan skyline.
Oh, the beauty of being rich.
Dear Mr. Trump. When you promise to make America great AGAIN,
which America do you mean?
The one where interned Japanese are forced into camps?
The America where Blacks are hung, burned and dismembered
in front of cheering crowds?
The America where women’s opinions are silenced behind
Foolish land-owning stipulations?
The America where the stock market crashes into thousands
of empty stomachs lining barren city streets?
The America where women must suffer infection and disease because there is no place
to protect their bodies?
The America where protest has always and will always
be the strongest force of change?
The America where the disabled are mocked and degraded
in the public square?
The America where freedom of speech and the Second Amendment
are only defendable in the hands of a white male?
The America where Natives were annihilated
by petrified, vicious settlers we call heroes?
The America where white-washed narratives and pale blue-eyed beauty
spread the despicable poison of supremacy and colorism
throughout every corner of this planet?
What about the America where lynch mobs and segregation
was legal, commendable, encouraged?
Which America are you talking about Mr. Trump?
The America you’ve imagined, where yellow badged Muslims
are denied freedom, but white mobs at your rallies are just
speaking their minds?
The America that refuses to embrace teenagers traveling 2,000 miles
through utter hell to avoid being murdered in their own country?
The America where 78 pages of paperwork is not enough
to keep the Trojans of Syria from invading your peace of mind?
The America where self-righteous blue uniforms send blacks shaking
in their Jordans because this beautiful sun-kissed skin we cannot disavow
is just so daggone suspicious—to you?
Dear Mr. Trump, I realize that since you turned your tassel,
the world has been a million dollar uphill battle
you have learned to divide and conquer along the way,
and how dare a half African become more powerful—
in this great land of opportunity—than you.
I see your white privileged dilemma Mr. Trump.
Our colors after all are
Dear Mr. Trump. There’s nothing real about this purified estate
you’re building, tryna redevelop the White House
after that Negro stayed 8 years too long where he didn’t belong.
Say it ain’t so.
Life is not made up of winners and losers, Mr. Trump.
It’s made of battered war veterans and underpaid teachers
and pre-existing conditions and college grads with HUGE debt
and adult children caring for their elderly parents
and poor families quarantined to every east and south side of town
and grieving mothers hung over the donated caskets of their babies
and Ahmed trying to build a clock
and brown business owners gaining citizenship
and suburban families who no longer have to wait for the school bus
to let off the child they lost in the last mass shooting
yet we are the terrorists infecting your white-robed, cone-headed
fantasy, who refuse to fly under the safety of the right wing on your
private jet. Or have you never heard of these dukes before?
I know you believe the art of dealing is second in command
but you are no Son of God so why don’t you and Wallace
keep your popular legacy
and we’ll rescue our over-heated, crumbling Earth in need of saving.
you will not apprentice this country to poverty in 1 or 2 terms
1 or 2 spurs? left or right? too bad you were too deformed to wear our uniform.
you cannot serve 319 million when you are being served
by your second imported supermodel 58 ceilings above Main Street, USA,
bullying your way in musth through a GOP you flip-flopped into
like a fish out of water.
Better wear a bullet-proof behind your blood-thirsty PD Mr. Trump—
wouldn’t want to be Lincoln, Kennedy, Garfield, McKinley.
Fire. Even your boy Reagan knew we’d be a nation
if you were ever hired.
Thank you Mr. Trump. For reminding us in 2016
that America is no better than 1846,
than racists terrorizing black churches and taunting Latino workers
and white officers killing youth
and men sexualizing women’s character
and bombing the haystack to look for the needle
and delivering degrading speil to rioters
and angry mobs suckerpunching anyone who doesn’t look like them,
thank you Mr. Trump. For reminding us that America’s greatness
lies in raised hands shouting vows to bombastic speech,
that justice for all referred to everyone signing the Declaration
(which was one heck of a pale party),
that our allies slide further away each time voters circle Trump
on their ballots, knowing in their hearts he’s right.
It’s a shame we overestimated our intelligence,
don’t realize if we don’t love we’ll die.
God shed Your grace on us while selfishness stains us,
because a nation that’s a melting pot will always be boiling over.