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America great again, poem

I raised my black fist upwards, up to tear the sky and white TVs.

I shed my sweat and blood
in the Elysian fields of the plantations
of cotton.

I marched in crowded streets full of people
with eyes drenched in blood yet,
the bridge is still there.

I left with my brothers and
we are back wrapped in the flag
stars and stripes.

I arrived at the White House,
where the days seemed to pass
too fast.

I tasted the asphalt the day before and
the one before that, the year before so,
like the previous century.

You are right; white America is still great
but I’m still standing here
in front of you.

Above are the chalices,
filled to the brim with
blissful ignorance.

We celebrate getting drunk like pigs,
ungrateful, we celebrate with a dirty hand
on the flag.

The stuffed whispers turn towards us
sloppiness worthy of the sapiens man.

Raise our hearts during the blood
gushes out of our rotten body
while it wets your streets, white man.

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