American

Location

48933
United States
42° 44' 13.5888" N, 84° 33' 22.6368" W

“What makes me an American?” I ask in my prayers,

This question, like skin comes with multiple layers,

From night comes day as Her goods and her dangers,

But still we are loyal to a flag made by strangers,

In God, we do trust this non-secular state,

No race, class, or faith is subject to hate,

But what does it mean to swear affiliation,

I pledge allegiance to the history of this nation

 

I am the Native man whose adobe was burned,

For safety and a cure my people yearned,

Like wildfire the unstoppable infection spread,

For even those who accepted God were pronounced dead,

My destiny was manifested by the hands of evil,

But to ignore this layer may spawn an upheaval,

Like wounds these acts must leave a scar,

Consequently, they become who we are.

 

I am the colonist who left England and never returned,

From the mistakes of our oppressors no lesson was learned,

While fleeing persecution, we lost sight of the way,

As victims of retribution the Redskins must pay,

“O say can you see”, we sing with glee,

“This land of liberty” where everything is free,

A project started upon the foundation of disgrace

But finished, with the blueprint of Amazing Grace,

Like layers of skin She cracks and she bleeds,

America scabs over so that we may lead.

 

I am the slave who never learned math,

Paralyzed by fear of God’s Wrath,

Bound by the chains of Canon’s assault,

Born free but property by default,

Forgotten by the declaration,

But remembered in the proclamation,

Finally, a citizen but far from perfect,

The Dream of a preacher must be worth it.

 

I am the past, present, and future leader of this nation,

Changing from owning slaves to signing the proclamation,

I am the beggar, the teacher, the doctor, and C.E.O

Welcomed from Iran, Sudan, Syria, and Mexico,

While stopped at walls or airport gates,

The preacher’s Dream will forever be great,

No man or ban will overcome progression,

Presidential succession will outlast oppression,

 

“But what Makes me an American” I ask in prayer,

Our identity was created layer by layer.

           

The layer that impedes creation,

The layer that divides a nation,

The layer built in confusion,

The layer that evokes illusion,

This is the layer on which hate grows,

To put down one another is how hate shows,

An American is an American, we are all the same,

Under equal opportunity we may alleviate our pain,

To acknowledge our faults is to break down these walls

Our country will rise but first she may fall.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Poetry Slam: 
This poem is about: 
My country
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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