creating constellations

what have we come to, a slam poem

"Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

these are the words on the statue of liberty,
but we're not really the home of the free, are we?
we claim to be a melting pot,
but it can be hard to be respected if your skin isn't white and you don't bring home more than enough money at night.
our politicians are only hungry for power and hide their mouths behind their money when real issues are brought up, our televisions are filled with the people we are supposed to trust with our safety and rights making fun of each other like children. if people are dying, is the solution really whining?
we say "give us your huddled masses yearning to breathe free" but what about the kids in the closet who simply want to love who they want or be who they want to be but can't because they could be killed for their gender identity or sexuality?
or the people who could be shot for nothing more than the color of their skin, who fear walking around at night because people might make a wrong judgement and attack them?
or the religions and races that we are so wrongly associating with crime and terrorism?
or the women who don't get the judicial help they need because somehow wearing a short skirt meant she that it wasn't sexual assault?
i am so disappointed in us,
we are supposed to use our words to help and inspire,
but all we do is fuel the fire.