Processed

On days when I don't know what to say or how to say it, I let writing do the heavy lifting.

Photo by Ryan Quintal on Unsplash

Got so many things to say,
But I don’t know where to start.
All this chaos that is reigning,
Yeah, it’s tearing me apart.
They’ve been jolted from their beds
In the middle of the night,
You got papers? No, you don’t?
Then fuck all of your rights.

Oh, you do? And you voted for him?
Well, Fuck. You. Too.
We’ll just find another reason,
To put you in a queue.

The microwave’s gone blam,
The potato inside’s exploded,
A native to our land,
But its worth has been demoted.
Its nutrients are taken
From deep within the earth,
But they’re spun around, jacked up,
And asked about their birth.

They slice it thin, fry in oil,
Salt it, and re-package.
Stick ‘em in a freight container,
Ask ‘em, whose this land is?

They want to rule with fear, yeah,
They want to rule with chaos,
Just eat your processed snack
And don’t forget to thank us.

The bag is filled with air,
Its size determined by weight.
Only approved flavors for sale,
They’ve got lemon-chile-hate.

Hateful in the comments,
Hateful in the ads,
Hateful to the barrios,
Hateful telecasts.
Hateful in the booths,
Hateful on their lawns,
Hateful in their gulfs,
Hateful ‘cause they pawns.

Find the joy in friends,
And love in family,
Go back far enough,
We’re of the same tree.
Stay strong, be loud,
If that’s safe for you.
You belong, you matter,
They’ll never make that untrue.

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Be well, stay safe, love each other.