American Dreaming

American Dreaming

We say the gates are golden,
the lady in the harbor weeps welcome.
Give us your tired, your poor.
But not too tired, not too poor,
and please, not too dark.

I am an American dreamer.
I dream with a bigger heart.

America was built by calloused hands,
dug its foundation in sugar cane slavery and coal mines,
hauled its bricks through back doors
while front doors slammed shut.
The tired and poor bled into the soil,
but the rich and powerful signed their names in marble.

I am an American dreamer.
I learn to survive the beautiful lies.

They draft big bills with shining names.
Protection. Security. Fairness.
Between the lines are razor wire,
language sharp as fences,
words that divide families like lightning splits trees.

They feed the full
while the hungry wait outside.
Hand out dignity like wartime rations,
only to those who mouth their prayers.
The rest become ghosts,
erased from the story.

I am an American dreamer.
I know hope cuts both ways.

Yes, this country was born screaming liberty
with a whip in its hand.
It sings freedom
with its boot on someone's throat.

But I still dream.
Not their sanitized version.
Mine is wild with possibility,
fierce in its tenderness,
muddy with the work of love.
Messy as mercy.

Because to dream in America
is to refuse the easy answers,
To dream in America
is to set a table wide enough
for those they call my enemies.

I am an American dreamer.
And I dream us whole.

-nl
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