What Does Freedom Mean To Me?

How am I supposed to feel on Independence Day?

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

What is the fourth of July to me and to mine?

Grandpa came home from the war,
this country disrespected his time.

That one thing you can never rewind.

You aren’t supposed to be seen, 
you better fall in behind.

Freedom is something I don’t know if I’ve felt in my life.

As my new neighbors take turns to light up the sky, 
I want to observe, 
have them light up my life.

But I step out from where I reside
to feel eyes burning holes in my sides.

Hair wild, 
well, 
in their mind.

Not according to mine.

Couldn’t see the difference between us
if we x-ray our spines.
But they place judgments on mine
because my hair reaches up to the sky.

Maybe my backbone is different, 
because the unknown in my existence.

Will they see my skin
think I need penance?

Or I need less painkillers,
when I’m at the dentist?

Or will they judge me
based on how I’m speaking this sentence?

When they wouldn’t know different
if they just read what I’ve written.

All these decisions
must be made as soon as I enter their vision. 
I need their acceptance 
to reach what we considering winning.

Capitalism’s the mission.

Work side-by-side with depression
just to get a throne I can sit in.

Change myself for the funds?
Consider it done. 
Unfortunately, 
my shade only comes in as one.

So those loaded questions always frame what I’ve done.
Picture me acting like equal is what we’ve become.

I pray that one day, 
I can have me a sun.
Who can show me the light, 
and when they make it outside,
won’t face the barrel of this American gun.

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