“For language to have meaning there must be intervals of silence somewhere, to divide word from word and utterance from utterance. He who retires into silence does not necessarily hate language. Perhaps it is love and respect for language which imposes silence upon him.”
America, I want to love you. I want to roll down your uncut grassy hills, to run my fingers over the peat moss and to swim in your lakes and rivers. I want to lay in your wheat fields next to someone worth traveling for and to talk about your greatness, but I can’t.
I can’t revel in your beauty like I did as a child, carefree and covered in cuts and bruises. I can’t worship your volcanic soils or dig for crystals right after the rains. I can’t covet the fat lips or the browned jeans, the cars of yesteryear or the flag, worn down by generations of gusts and thunderstorms, no.
You’re led by men who fear me, who wish harm or worse: death. You have laws in place against me and penalties reserved for the sick or the poor. You have waged war on us and for what?
I live in a country where I must fight to love who I love. I live in a country that has not allowed me childhood unless I belong to a specific class and identification.
America, I want to love you but you’ve made it impossible. You have sold us our freedom with fine print and that is no freedom at all. If only you’d come to your senses and share in my bed, my food and my family. Maybe then you’d see the harm you’ve done. I am only one of millions of your people and my story is just as important.
America, please come to your senses; there is no war, there is no class, there is no justification in hate. There are too many gems in the dirt, too few fish in our lakes and too little time to let love be what it is.”
'America, What Have You Done?'