Creative Prose: Americans in Exile

I wrote this December 18, 2017 in honor of where I believed our country was headed.

So dark is this place. Filled with feeling, longing, despair. Who can go on? Look up?! Or see the light? Crooked people and their crooked hands twist my arms, their long finger nails clawing into my flesh grabbing the nape of my neck, and with their sharp teeth bite down into my flesh. The wicked queen of wealth and corporate greed along with her son Ego smile with blood dripping from their mouths. Spurting outwards, inwards, and towards everyone now. We all want. We all need.

I watch him and others spew their lies, and their hatred, their rhetoric towards the masses. Breeding contempt and creating swirls of uncertainties, it overwhelms the atmosphere like carbon monoxide and manipulation—undetectable but leaving its mark. It gives me a headache. I can feel the wicked queen of greed laughing again, her chest rising and falling, her blood spewing down her satin dress, her rising ribs like knives, killing my hopeless dreams of rising above my social class. She grabs me tightly along with her son, they tie me up. Tied together in agony, we are one. I am forced now to struggle to survive.

If only lady liberty had taken a self-defense class or had a weapon, but only men of ill will and bad intentions are known to have guns these days. If only lady liberty wasn’t raped in some dark alley off Broadway street or on some unknown shore where the starving Syrian children and victims of fundamentalism have been left behind. I know I am dying now. The evil queen has tied a noose around my neck and I’m choking on it. Draining me dry of all of the life force I have left except to breathe in my last swallows of sorrow and despair, and exhaustion. She then turns into the Devil who looks happy and grim, being held up on some cross by none other than people who call themselves Christians and say we believe in the same God, but I know better. And so does He I’m sure. So dark is this place. Pray, where is there any light? Where is the God of justice and virtue? Will he come to comfort me and US in our final moments as WE gasp for breath, under poverty, despair, and sadness? Is my life already over now, in the hands and whims of corporations, of hate, of creatures that lust after everything including my own independent and free-thinking soul? God have mercy on me, on US. Come and take us home.