I love America so much I was born blue,
wanted to resemble the flag on my way out
before I bothered
learning how to breathe

I love America so much, I
wrapped my life around the first amendment,
peaceably assembling every piece of my speech
till
words learned to ring like freedom
and I couldn’t help but buy her the biggest ring I could fathom,
but
none of us live in a vacuum,

I love America, but
her friends and I have never clicked,
flags on pick-up tricks too often demanding, I
“Go home”
to my
“own country”
as if I only commute here
on the weekend
as if
every latino jumped a border to arrive.

I love America, but
can’t stand her
father’s list of things I’m not good enough for,
rolling across the ground (like a thrown roll of paper towels)
each
scratch embedded into the earth of America
that
I feel the need to plant flags
shoot fireworks every time I prove him wrong.

I love America, but
can’t help but feel like we should leave the room,
or
start making out
every time her Uncle Sam declares
one of the many things I’m
“less than”
watches me
as if I’m about to steal something or stab someone
has
his boys in blue make sure I know who owns the house
. . .

I love America, have
reddened every cheek I’ve turned
found
too many of her friends
eager to tell me how wrong I am about her family
how
they’ve never been spoken to that way,
and
I can’t help but close the ring case in my pocket,
keep it tight
till my lady love
will at least
stand with me
as I stand for myself.

Esteban Colon is the author of Things I Learned the Hard Way, Hell Creek and Whispered Soliloquies. He served as the 2018-2019 Kenosha Poet Laureate and has appeared in a variety of journals. He is a past guest editor of Bramble, and loves collaborating with other artists.