The American Flag hangs over my desk for the first time,
It’s wrinkled and missing a few stars.
There was a empty pang in my stomach while hanging it.
My social awareness of white pride, rural rednecks implied…
Last time I felt pride… I was a republican.
It’s been a decade… since I changed sides.
I guess I’m allowed to be proud now.
And I’ve been trying on that feeling for fit.
But Nationalism still has that funky smell.
So my reservations hold… like barnacles on a ship
Trying to find the imaginary numbers keeping us afloat.
Asking myself… which is more patriotic:
A hammer… or a gun.