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On Walls

Poetry & Prose | March 6, 2017

5,259 miles we traveled to escape from

echoes of gunshots and walls painted in

blood. An 8-hour plane ride separated me

from the only world I had ever known.

 

Here, in these United States, we searched

for safety. I dared dream dreams I never once

thought possible in my country, for tragedy

lurked gleefully behind every corner.

 

I was to learn new tragedies awaited me

in America the Beautiful. I was informed

that my presence in the country I idealized

was illegitimate. Illicit. Illegal.

 

Nine. That’s how old I was when fear

began to colonize these bones of mine.

Bones which are my only home, the only

place I undoubtedly know I am welcome.

 

My existence is a crime. The punishment,

a shattering demolition of all the hopeful bricks

I have laid, worse than death itself yet cleansed

into two neat little words: “removal proceedings.”

 

 

So you want to build your Wall across borders?

Well we and the others you have enslaved

built this entire country on land that you stole

under the pretense of finding freedom.

 

We the Criminal Aliens of the “United”

States of America have been building walls

around our hearts for as long as your evil

has penetrated the Earth with your poisons.

 

So dare build all the walls you pretend to need.

What we have built is far stronger, and there is

no tearing it down. The same cannot be said

for fascist dictators.

Watch yourself.