United.

What have we done? With blurry eyed contact lines and brown eyes.

Why them? With borderlines ten feet high wider than my waist.

When? How? With heavy feet nothing more than wasted time

Were we not the melting pot where all could come?

Now they arrive only to get burned to the bottom of the pan.

Glass ceiling and Styrofoam walls, burned and melting into napalm bombs.

If you hope to succeed you strive to be beaten down by your drive,

Others see you as a threat.

They should.

No one can succeed when all that you know is burning inside your throat.

Fighting to come out like pride, they hope when they arrive they aren't still dead inside.

Closet sarcophagi retaining those whose love is different.

Welcome to the battleground well known as home.

Everyone give a hand to help us cope stand upright awaiting the light.

Here we stand. Here we hope. Here we fight.

This poem is about: 
My country
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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