Love Letter?

Seth Murawsky

I love you and I always have.

You’re my home.

But are you really?

Too many days I see you and I cry.

I cry for the people you hate,

The people you hurt,

The people you forget,

The people you fail to forgive.

But, at the end of the day, I have nowhere else to go but to you.

Your disregard for the despair of the desolate disgusts me.

But, at the end of the day, I have nowhere else to go but to you.

Business as usual means bolstering the boisterous babbling of bigots.

But, at the end of the day, I have nowhere else to go but to you.

The problems of your past pierce the present and plague the future.

But, at the end of the day, I have nowhere else to go but to you.

I love you and I always have.

You’re my home.

But now I’m not so sure.

The pain you cause haunts me to my core.

But, at the end of the day, I have nowhere else to go but to you.

Grab Coffee Go Vote

Natalia De la Pena

Dead, White, and Blue

Kevin Orr

Red, white and blue…but indivisible for who? 

The color of love is supposed to be red, 

but who knew it could be hijacked for bloodshed. 

The color of a bruise is typically blue, 

but who knew it could be invoked for the truth. 

“Indivisible under God” we all like to claim, 

but the devil is drenched in red and abusing His name. 

We live in a time in dire need of unity. 

But good fucking luck finding that in 2020. 

There is a wide chasm halving the heart of America 

and it is throbbing and burning with loud fury. 

And it pains me to offer the unabashed truth 

that no such unity will ever come true 

as long as our right half brazenly defecate 

on the documents to which they’re meant to dedicate. 

The red care not for the lost or tired. 

We can hear the sky shatter with the rounds they fire. 

They care not for the poor or struggling. 

We can see their packed wallets and puppet strings. 

They prove there’s no such thing as angels or gods. 

Not when their “religion” is what shoots the shots. 

Oh dear god, all we want is love. 

Jesus fucking Christ just give us love. 

But they won’t. 

All Americans are meant to be created equal 

until the red just suddenly decide you’re illegal. 

They steal all our colors of patriotism, 

govern on undying, hateful favoritism, 

but wouldn’t know a popular win if it hit ‘em. 

The ghosts of over 200,000 dead, 

the no-votes of 80 million and yet 

they appropriate our anthem and spangled banner 

and continue to embolden hateful killers 

while smashing down our democratic pillars, 

While they beat the drum of “rights” and “the free,” 

we march the streets just asking to breathe. 

But there will be no breath as long as they lead. 

They don’t own the drumsticks to our nation’s song, 

for their lyrics of forced fear and false enemies, 

drowning out the beat of unbreakable greed, 

are nothing more than a deluded siren song. 

They’re pushing a finger on the scales of power, 

and pulling a finger on the trigger of terror. 

And no, they won’t give you a fucking ventilator. 

We try far too hard not to displease, 

but we are running out of time, 

so let’s save the fucking pleasantries. 

We the people do ordain and establish 

the grave in which this elephant shall perish. 

To pick up the downtrodden and honor the dead, 

we have no choice but to erase the red. 

Disarm them of the weapons from which they profit. 

Obliterate every lie that fuels their bullets. 

Strip them from the stripes of which they’re not worthy. 

For the dear love of anything holy, 

they don’t deserve our flag or lady liberty. 

Clear their black smoke from the blue skies of stars. 

Decimate their lethal hate to stitch our gaping scars. 

We have to go home to what formed our country, 

walk away from the red and all their bigotry, 

and leave them to lay in the ash heap of history. 

Do not stop paying attention. No, do not grow numb. 

No secrets remain, nor any grains of hope in their creed. 

There is nothing less American than the red and their deeds, 

and there is nothing greater our democracy needs 

than to end the red before they let our soul bleed and bleed. 

The New American Palate

Media Social Action ARC

Dear Amer*ca

Maddie Horn