And we’re still alive—
five months from the day
forever programmed in our minds
and we’re still here—
so far, we’ve made it.
On that day of limbo,
of crumbling uncertainty,
watching endless clips,
endless screams, endless tears,
we forgot how we lived,
didn’t know we could go on.
But we did, somehow—
either through blindly praising
a striped piece of cloth and
singing once empty but
collectively memorized anthems,
or by helping the economy
and filling our lives with more
thing to replace our
unfillable emptiness,
or by bombing foreign countries,
killing innocent people
(and calling them collateral damage—
they are people)
hating those with dark
skin or different customs—
because they’re not like us,
they’re all the same,
they hate America,
they’re not people.
Yes, so far, we’ve made it,
but in the process of our own healing,
how much have we destroyed?
