I Am From The Real America

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.