My Country, ‘Tis Not Thee I see.

I don’t have words. Well, no words that I can type and ease my uneasiess over what’s happening, anyways. My heart aches and I can do nothing to soothe it because I see things happening that I will not accept. I won’t call this place “my country” right now, despite my citizenship because my country is so much better than what I see.

My country ‘tis a place of hope, founded by refugees fleeing persecution and dreamers with hope of a better future.

My country ‘tis a place of progress, where society gradually becomes more accepting of “the other” and we work to truly become one people.

My country ‘tis a place of knowledge, where we listen to the brightest of minds on how to make the world a better place.

My country ‘tis a place of compassion, where we notice our neighbors in need and sacrifice so that their children can thrive alongside ours.

My country ‘tis a place of opportunity, where one’s skin color, gender, socioeconomic class, nor ethnicity determine his or her ability to succeed.

My country has free trade, open borders, and representation in government.

I don’t recognize my country in this place I see on the news—a place of fear of anything we don’t recognize in the mirror, a place of greed, and a place which wages war on compassion.

I know my thoughts on the state of the Union rattle off like the verses of a funeral dirge, but I’m distraught. I lack the words to make all of this feel right… because it is wrong.  We will eventually leave this era of history, and my only hope left is that there are some remnants of my country left when it’s all said and done.

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