Children march in boots
too big for their feet
blinders too close to their eyes
uniforms worn too tightly
around their hearts
left left left right left
till their is nothing left
of our children pretending
to be men who are brave
and pretending to be women
who have equality
and pretending to be brothers
who don't have to fear for their lives
because of the skin the were born in
and sisters pretending
they don't have to fear
their fathers and uncles and brothers
and cousins and preachers and friends and husbands
as much as they do
the kindness of strangers
and we sit on our sofas and lazy boys and kitchen tables
pretending the news isn't so bad
and pretending
that war is a necessary business
and pretending that the phrase
"**** culture"
isn't something vile that drags itself through our minds
and up our throats
and out our mouths
and pretending clichés like
"boys will be boys"
makes it all "ok"
(at least for little boys born
to the right father
of the right name
of the right wealth)
and pretending that
she should have known better
and pretending that
he should have complied
to being stripped of his right to live
which ironically would
have still ended up
with him bleeding to death
which really isn't ironic
but just ****** up
but I almost forget
this is all just pretend
as we sit at our table
of disinterest and hashtags
and cold truths
being covered in warm lies
and is that the death
of the American dream
I smell cooling off in the window seal
overlooking the corruption
and destruction
and industrialized nation
that is nothing more
than a cage to keep us safe
from our own thoughts
because we wouldn't want
to know that the boots
they sell to our children
have already been worn
and are already covered
in mud and blood and death
and we still let them march away
as we pretend
it will all be ok...