i never knew how heavy colors could be
until the whites and reds and blues piled on top of me
my father was buried refusing to believe
the dark tones of his skin weren’t complementary
to the blood red drowning around them and him and me
this year, once again, the crimson was splattered around
as the sunshine gave way to the storm underneath the ground
the blue in our veins chilled and completely bound
refusing to bleed out and listen to the incessant terrifying sound
refusing to admit that turning blue can do no more
than bleed us out for the dream and hopes just like before
but, is it really like before?
the hues of the familiar colors reflect in a way
that has me believe what my father would say
“the american dream is real, you’ve just gotta believe in it”
it’s 50% 48.7% chance it could be
