Freedom


Freedom walks around town in a pair of ripped jeans
in a t-shirt that praises beer and barbeque
He eats a cheeseburger from the nearest fast-food chain
ketchup and grease running down his chin, coating his neckbeard
The thought doesn’t cross his mind that he’s lucky, that he’s privileged
to concerned with thoughts of how they won’t replace him
to concerned with thoughts of making things great again for all the wrong reasons
The thought doesn’t cross his mind that others are in pain because they know him
Freedom walks around town in a pair of ripped jeans
and the rest of us cross the street to escape the stench of gunsmoke and piss

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