I would be the first
Proudly ejected from my desk, with a right hand hovering firmly over my undeveloped left breast
To recite the indoctrinated love for the greatest mirage of an accepted state in the Western hemisphere
It was not until my father's army cries of trauma were disregarded
Because he did not bleed red, white, and
Blue on the battle field
That gravity began taking over my heavy hand
My pockets filled with stone and
My beating heart developed into a sack of realization
That lives lost were not lives that mattered
If those lives were not American