The air is singed, heavy
with the searing smell
of patriotic jubilance,
nationalistic propaganda
bullshit
over a nation
I have never felt anything more than
a deep abiding sense of shame
and humiliation from.
xx
You had eyes
like a polluted sea, you had eyes
that swam with the all of bottles
whose contents you rotted your liver with,
you had eyes that were so, so heavy,
slurring,
misleading.
Your simulated waves
of macho confidence
could bring me so high
only to be shot down swiftly
so as to put me in my place.
xx
I wrote you a poem for Fourth of July
and I didn’t hold back
and you didn’t like it.
I romanticize our
shared obsession with death, I
romanticize my bitterness, I
romanticize our conflict, I
romanticize the fact that at times
I felt so little
outside of those things
I romanticized that despite it all
I wanted you,
I deeply, wildly, romanticized
you,
and I think that scared you,
with words alarming, bright
and burning like fireworks.
xx
The air is heavy
with own dramatic battle retelling,
rose-tinted propaganda
silly headed sad girl bullshit.
But your eyes,
your words
I remember them so well.
That I did not let time
or my fear
or my shame
retell.
xx
