This is My Home

Note: I wrote this after hearing some asshole tell a brown-skinned person to “go back home.” It got me thinking about this notion of ownership and what makes a home and an immigrant. I wrote this in response, and while I am sharing it here, I am not up for a political debate. You don’t agree, keep it moving! Originally published on my main blog.

This is my home,

for sea to shining sea

flows with the blood

and sweat of stolen lives,

our eyes swollen with

tears and fears.

They grip me at night, urging me to

take flight,

screaming and begging

me to return

to where my soul can roam

freely, to

where my Black is

beautiful and I am valued.

But this is my home,

here, in states stitched

together by the never-ending

rope used to lynch me.

Constant reminders of your self-hate

burn in the Rushmore of lies.

Privilege lurking

as weapons of mass destruction.

Obstructions of justice

provide you

the corruption of might.

And still, my soul? It flows through

foundations of houses

so white

they glow.

Oh, say you can see!

Say you can see the blood

strewn across Glory, Old,

and stained with guilt

as it waves.


every amber wave of grain is owed

to the ancestors of brown faces,

who stand with scarred backs

healing in the light of the rising sun.

A new day has begun.

Let us march on ’til victory is won

and we can be free


Our Home.


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