The winds don’t blow here.

Freedom’s winds, I mean.

The kind they describe in all those American songs

The ones that Americans sing with pride

They don’t know it’s all a lie.

They guaranteed us liberty

“Justice for all,” they said

They don’t know it’s all a lie.

The blood drips

From someone’s pen

Or someone’s tie

Or someone’s gavel

They can’t see it

But it’s there.

We know.

They don’t.

They’ll never understand

What it’s really like

For people like us.

Whether it be

A black man

With fresh scars down his back

Or

A young girl

Whose hijab has been torn off

Or

A gay man

Killed for simply existing

“The land of the free”

They sing with pride.

They don’t know it’s all a lie.

The winds don’t blow here.