I am from the real America.
Not the one stitched together for campaign commercials,
not the plastic flag waving in front of cameras
while children sleep hungry behind gas stations.
I am from the America
where mothers skip dinner
so their babies can eat ramen without seasoning.
Where fathers break their backs
just to hear the landlord say,
“Still not enough.”
I am from abandoned factories,
boarded-up churches,
streets where hope walks around
wearing steel-toe boots and overdue bills.
They told us America was freedom.
So why does freedom feel
like choosing between medicine and rent?
Why does freedom sound
like an eviction notice at 7 AM?
I see empty houses rotting like forgotten teeth,
windows shattered, paint peeling,
entire neighborhoods abandoned to weeds and silence...
while families sleep in cars
wrapped in winter coats like body bags.
Tell me how that makes sense.
Tell me how a country this rich
has people digging through dumpsters
while billionaires launch themselves into space
like Earth is already a lost cause.
I am from the real America.
The one where veterans beg on street corners
holding cardboard signs
that say they fought for this country,
yet this country walks past them
like they’re ghosts.
We slam doors shut,
build walls higher,
lock borders tighter,
like compassion is some kind of disease.
But the real America?
The real America was supposed to open its arms.
Supposed to be a place
where tired souls could breathe again.
A place where broken people
weren’t treated like invaders
for wanting safety.
Somewhere along the way,
greed dressed itself like patriotism.
Hatred wrapped itself in red, white, and blue.
And politicians started treating human beings
like numbers on a scoreboard.
You want me to believe in America?
Then show me the America
where nobody freezes under bridges.
Show me the America
where schools have books instead of bullet holes.
Show me the America
where healthcare isn’t a luxury item.
Show me the America
that protects people more than profits.
Because I am tired.
Tired of leaders who can’t even lead their own lives
trying to tell the rest of us
what morality looks like.
Tired of watching ego become law.
Tired of watching humanity drown
while cameras keep rolling.
I am from the real America.
The America built by workers with blistered hands.
By immigrants carrying generations of dreams
inside one suitcase.
By Black voices that refused to stay silent.
By queer kids surviving towns
that prayed for their disappearance.
That is the America I know.
Not fear.
Not cruelty.
Not division sharpened into policy.
I still believe this country could become
what it promised us it was.
But first,
we have to stop worshipping power
and start protecting people.
We have to stop asking
“How do we keep them out?”
and start asking
“How do we keep each other alive?”
Because the real America
was never supposed to be a fortress.
It was supposed to be a heartbeat.