by Rhianna French
The words fall off my tongue and congeal
Memories force themselves out in a
Soliloquy of nostalgia, ripe with history
We the People of the divided states
Ornate words once buttery and enticing
Now, seemingly… meaningless
Land of the Free but home of the debted
Running through the thicket of my mind
The anxiety of these frustrations
Once a luminous, ethereal, and treasured gardenia
Now a dried up and leafless bush begging for water
One Nation under duress
Now, only finding malevolence and bitterness
The economics of this great land, suffocating
Wading through gelatinous chunks of anger and strife
The viscosity makes the truth stick to the roof of their mouths
We the People are tired
Leonardo Magazine 