American Pie

Your patriotic cries pierce my ears, 

loud and resounding. But I am deaf.

Everyone gets a piece of the pie; liberty, justice,

but I am left with scraps- burnt pie crust and expired fruit filling.

But hey! at least I have a seat at the table, those before me not even allowed to dine.

Hanged, Whipped, Flayed, Burned, Drowned, Dismembered. Shot. 

America: Land of the Free, American: Land of Opportunity; this America they did not know.

America: I dont want to go to School with Negroes, 

America: Don't Bring no Nigger Home,

America: Whites Only,

America: Because of the fact that your skin is dark, your nose is wide, your lips are big, your hair is nappy, your butt extendes, you are not adequate. 

You are unworthy of the simplest of things- you do not deserve the same drinking water, the same clothing, the same childrens toys, the same housing, 

because this isn't American: Land of the Free, this is America: You're Black. 

And while they persevered and survived in that America, I'm still eating pie crumbs. 

So until im served a piece- golden, buttery crust and rich, fresh fruit filling (blackberries preferably),

your America, patrotic and free, is not mine.

 

This poem is about: 
Me
My community
My country
Our world

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