I’m leaving this place behind, I’m putting it to my back for the last time, I can step lightly for the first time, In a long time. I’m going home.
I will take off these clothes. I am going to wash myself. I am removing years of dust, No more will it cling to me, To coat my breath.
I will walk my home streets, Laugh and marvel at the changes. 8 years is a long time to be away, But I feel home at last. Home to stay.
It’s not how I remember it always. I see tanks, and APCs now. They must have been here before. Maybe it’s learning a new word, Then reading it everywhere.
The bulls love their horns, Still pepper spray and guns, As they did across the sea. It’s buying a new car, Then noticing everyone else who drives it.
We treat everyone equally here. As long as you’re the right color, As long as you have money. Pay off your warrant, Bribe the city off your back.
I feel like Rip van Winkle. I’ve been fighting for something that died, Propaganda is a mirror you have to hold up to yourself, When you finally have the time.