I don’t recognize this world anymore.
The sky hums with sirens, and the children wear armor now—
bulletproof backpacks stitched with cartoon heroes,
ballistic shields reflecting a nation’s indifference.
They call it fashion,
as the Boys parade through the gas,
saints of a new gospel where obedience is holy
and empathy is heresy.
We are told that tyranny is strength,
that cruelty keeps the peace.
Judges burn in their own homes,
and the bombers, haloed by flags,
declare themselves the party of love.
Billy Bob, baptized in grease and grievance,
grins through his McDonald’s crumbs,
new mask in one hand,
gun in the other—
he calls it freedom,
but it tastes like fear and gasoline.
He’s found a new hobby,
and it bleeds.
I am really scared because I feel like the nation is at an impasse. Either we collectively recognize this moment as a rise of fascism and we push back against it, or we surrender to it. And I’m not sure which way the nation is leaning. I still have hope, but I worry because my hope in America has been let down so many times in recent years.