american dream

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This is no dream to me It was not my ancestors dream It was not something we wanted to achieve   Kidnapping and capturing brought us here Where we built on once sacred Native lands
The other day someone asks “How is your family doing quarantine?” I say “My dad is an essential worker” And what they don’t realize is that Papi has been an essential worker for 30 years now
I once believed in the American dream. I believed in it because of its hope-- Its guarantee that if I worked hard enough I just might touch the fluorescent green light.
Im hurt and there nothing worse. These kids take drugs and make love and are destined to become professional thugs but what do I know i'm a privileged white girl, a nice girl.
Working to support ourselves living in safe neighborhoods  fighting to protect our rights  there's no way a dystopian society shines bright  while all we do is cuss and fuss let this be a warning 
This transcendental sea Stretched in miles destiny, Precincts an outline of hope- Moreover, anguish. As all horizons seem to be Dense in fate of sky and sea.
Ben Franklin As he is known to the world, Is brilliant, Innovative, Admired. Americans used to know him that way too,
WE are the children of America The children of those who traveled land and sea. The children of those who plowed fields and picked trees.
im a self made man said the stud in the  backlit  studio a small-screen personality of  the glorious yesterday leaned over a curvy glossy desk and listened with frank disinterest though he was very 
America is a puzzle. The people are the pieces. Pieces that come in all shapes, sizes, and colors. Each piece is made of wood That comes from all over. Mexico, Canada, Poland, Germany, Japan, China and India.
Land of the free and home of the brave. We take the world's pitiful and their worst. Freedom and happiness is all that we crave, The poor, however, are forever cursed.  
A woman Long yellow dress Blonde short curls Red lipstick And a smile that shines like the sun Classic, vintage, timeless   A man Nice colored shirt Short brown hair
Determination,  It's the driving force that lies deep within my soul.  There is only one goal, success. Two jobs and a full time student, overwhelmed with stress.
This poem from beginning to end Is all of me, now and then.   My Past indescribable as it can be Was not so sad you see.
Good Morning America! Land of the free, home of the brave, and the founder of the freedom that so many crave.   The stars in the sky, as bright as they gleam
I’m more than the stereotype that comes along with my skin color Yes I can speak English and no I will not say something in Spanish for your amusement No soy tu titere
Hitting a brick and cannot find my way.Financial issues is hitting a dead end.Teased to point that nothing in life matters.On the brick of light of life. Where is my American Dream?Lost? Found? or Neither?
What is the American Dream? Does it haunt the thoughts of our generation, Like a nightmare before wake? Or does it give a small glimpse of hope for the future, And oppress the unfulfilled.
This is not about the country, This is about being undocumented. We cross the border Without knowing our own destiny. Some have luck, others die trying. Some die in the desert, and others die in the train.
Let us go you, and I. To the land of the free Where freedom sways in the quenched air Or so they say.
Dear Gatsby, When I look at you I see yellow, but mostly black. When the fireflies fly The ladies sway to and fro’. How long have you wondered? Through the big lights. The perilous carriage. Unlike the past we no longer adjourn the future.
Yo soy Irma
I know I might not have been born in a Hispanic Country,
Did you know that there is a secret dimension right behind you? Right beside you?No. You didn't.
I don't know what kind of music you listen to you when you're alone If you live in a white house with a picket fence and two parents in one home Or if your friend made you laugh so hard at lunch water came out your nose
Because the American Dream is hardly a dream Working two jobs, a nightmare it seems Bills upon bills, taxes upon taxes, Living middle class, far from the wealthy status.  
I sold my soul for corporate goals And a white picket fence. Til that day there will be hell to pay Though I can’t even make rent.
Is to be loved Is to find your own joy Or is it the old house With a white picket fence? Is it family Or is it money? The American Dream Has changed— So what is your limit?
To own land for oneself- To speak up for oneself- To work for oneself- Are they stooping this low? Denying themselves this pride and integrity? Do they not value this venerable treasure?
In this great Melting Pot is there really room for more ingredients? Careers New Life Education They want it all Seeking far and low To become new creations Carrying stress and pressure on behind
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