Please, Tell Me Again

Tell Me Again of how your privilege is comparable to the suffering of those who built the pedestal you preside on.

Pedaling your way through the outcries of those willing to pander in your immaculate form to which their hands did make.

Tell Me Again of how the litany of cultures surrounding you are just little obstacles awaiting your leisurely destruction. Letting them battle while you lay back counting the layers of monetary gain you acquire by way of corporate exploitation.

 

Tell Me Again that to ease your tension is as easy as placing the easel and letting the watercolors drip down the page.

Or to eat away the burdens while others are eager for the offerings at the hands of saints, eliciting prayers in exchange for Holy Mercy because it distracts them from hunger pains.

 

Tell Me Again that you are of no special position that you can attest to challenge as much as your fellow impoverished American.

Admiring the fine leather work of an individual who makes annually less than what they cost.

Or less by way of international assessment.

Tell Me Again how spending time spending dimes is somehow more dignified than squabbling to make ends meet as both are grotesque displays of widening social standings. Only to further the searing truth of how you used satin sheets to cover the dirty shirts of their backs you used to climb to success on.

Tell Me Again how easy it is for you to eliminate those you deem expendable because their living doesn’t weigh in on your exceptionally full dinner table. Instead creating an environment of wealth by inhaling enriching doses of dollar vitamins through capitalistically enlarged nostrils.

Tell Me Again you can in good conscience know all of this to be true and still turn blind eyes to those who see through your person. See the way big money is slowly becoming out of reach to those who handed it to you in their tax dollars. Surely it won’t be put back towards their child’s college savings. Please, Tell Me Again.

This poem is about: 
My country

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