Mr. Africa Poetry Lounge!

America's Prodigal

I am yours:
Incubated in the womb of Life and Liberty.
Fed the Bill of Rights, Constitution, and Declaration of Independence.
Put headphones on your stomach and allowed Whitney Houston to sing the National Anthem.

When you pushed, I saw blood, bone, and water carry me into this new world.

I am yours:
Marched to "Grand Ole Flag" as my first step.
Clothed me in Stars and Stripes.
"Out of Many, One" were my first words.

I fell asleep listening to the caws of eagles.

I am yours.

I am...I think?

I am called a minority:
Webster says I am "a smaller number or part".
I go to school to learn your history.
It does not mention me.
I go to the store for nourishment and vitality.
Liquor stores and cheaply priced fast-food restaurants are my options.
I try to get a job.
My abilities do not suit your qualifications.

I am yours?

I am sick from trying so hard.
Your hospitals can not heal me.

I worship your higher power.
Your people will not accept me.

I attempt to buy property.
Your bank can not assist me.

I try to love one of our own.
They do not want me.

I am yours?

What am I to do in your Great Plains that stretch from sea to shining sea?
How am I to see the dawn's early light?
Your grace is not shining down on me

your own.

I am not free:
I'm trapped.

I am not brave:
I'm scared.

America..Am I yours?

Written by JW Bella


Mr. Africa Poetry Lounge