It's come to that.
I've been sick of my
country for a long time,
Ever since I stopped being
a kid.
When I learned about the
atomic bombing of Japan.
Then Vietnam brought it
home.
I was writing Romantic
poetry
Until the age of 12.
Then my poetic soul
Gently urged me to wake
up.
I woke up like Neo in the
Matrix
In a bath of amniotic
fluid
Covered with suctioning
electrodes
Which I pulled off,
Gasping for air
Like a premature newborn
Adult human being.
All Romantic notions
Of One Nation Under God,
Hand to the heart,
Swearing allegiance
became just swearing.
Something hit the window
of my house of mirrors.
I picked up the
still-warm
Bird of my youthful soul
And got sick right there,
Sick of my country.
I have nothing to prove
to my country.
No loyalty.
My country needs to win
me back.
Hand over heart, face
mask for protection.
Stop making us sick.
(Article changed on March 19, 2018 at 18:31)