by Tierney Wells

We always say things that we are thankful for

our family, friends, God or other deities that we worship

small thanksgivings that numblessly leave our lips, 

under the pretense of being what we care about

But that’s just a falsehood, something that we say as to not upset those around us

Because if we say what we really mean, 

what swirls through our heads,

a rustle of falling leaves in the shapes of our doubts

would they reject us? Call us wrong,

spit in our faces for being so straightforward,

for daring us to even voice what we believe,

making them fear what the truth may be.

That we aren’t happy, aren’t thankful

that the feast before us is an illusion     

  to hide the blood spilt in between the triumphs and the freedom of those that have already suffered and continue to do so.

We stand off to the side as this happens,

a general of war watching his own men being slaughtered, his own blood being spilt 

and yet, he watches in glory at the lives lost for war.

How can we be thankful,

say what we are happy for in this life,

when the memory of what our country has done to gain this life and continues to do to the lives of others,

outweighs the happiness of the present?

But on we continue,

with the lies, the false truths,

because thankfulness was once a lie itself.