Let me rally beside you

“I am an American”—cut that into my shoulder blades with razors if you must—or shout it from the sidelines as you wave a flag made from blue eyes, rust red blood, and the stars our ancestors made wishes on—I am an American and I can’t change that so much as I can change the color of my skin—but if I try till my blood runs dry and my bones cry I can change what the words “I am an American” means—our redemption will be more than false free stars and lines of red and white toy soldiers marching across my throat—with my last words ringing true across the land of the free “I am an American” and perhaps for once I will be proud