I know you won't hear me.
If I use the exact tone
that my anger warrants,
you won't hear me.
If my shrill screams are released
And they resemble the beast
that lies in my heart for you
and your disregard of my family
you won't hear me.
As I stand,
wrapped in this American flag
weary from wading through water
filled with feces, anguish,
remnants of neighborhoods where I once played
I know you could never understand
how my hands, arms and legs are sore
from swimming and touching dead infants
using them as life preservers.
This isn't the first time the shoulders of the dead
have saved my life.
I had no idea that once again
I would depend on the strength of the dead.
The ancestors said to me as I swam
That they were with me.
They whispered to me to keep swimming.
Each time I grew tired and felt my arms
would not continue on, I heard “be strong”
and another human raft brushed against my arms.
And I am here.
Unable to convey to you exactly how I got here.
Mere words alone could never tell of the journey
that did not have to be.
Mr. President, you forgot about me
and as I stand here and listen to you
politicize and trivialize my reality
in this Land of the Free
with our Homeland Security
you left me to die
and the word “why” keeps coming to my mind
but the ability to speak
is getting harder and harder to find
and all I am capable of doing right now
is screaming the inaudible
how could this kind of betrayal be humanly possible?
But at that moment I swallow my rage
and let salt water pain inhibit my ability to see
Because when it comes to acknowledging my existence
You do not see me.
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