Post 12:
And I will fight for the dream.
The one that lit a fire in me as a child.
The one that still smolders beneath the ashes.
The dream of liberty and justice
for all.
(12/12)

But hear this.
Once I have mourned for a day,
I will return to the fight.
I will speak truth to power.
I will make my voice heard.
I will do what I can to make life better.
(11/12)

This Fourth of July, I will wear black.
Not in protest. In mourning.
For the country I loved.
For the dream we betrayed.
For the people we abandoned.
(10/12)

So I will not wear red, white, and blue.
I will not light sparklers to mask the burning.
I will not sing the anthem of the empire.
(9/12)

But those words ring hollow now.
We are no shining city.
We are a marketplace of suffering.
A carnival of lies.
(8/12)

This country taught me to celebrate liberty.
To honor the brave who stood against tyrants.
To remember:
We hold these truths to be self-evident.
Congress shall make no law...
Give me your tired, your poor...
(7/12)

Even those who claimed to fight for justice
turned out to be crooks of a quieter kind.
They smile while trading truth for access.
(6/12)

I see racism fed like firewood.
Greed exalted.
Abusers rewarded with power and praise.
And neighbors—fellow citizens—cheering it on.
Cheering the cruelty.
Calling it strength.
(5/12)

But now?
I see cages in the swamps.
Food ripped from hungry hands.
The sick left to beg while billionaires laugh.
(4/12)

Even when I saw the cracks in the marble.
Even when I learned the White House rose on the backs of slaves.
Even after hearing of massacres called victories,
of treaties broken, of children stolen,
I still believed.
Because the future held promises.
(3/12)

I used to march in parades.
I used to wave the flag with pride stitched on my sleeve.
I wore red, white, and blue like armor, like belief.
I thought it stood for something.
Truth. Justice. The American Way.
(2/12)