Question

“I pledge allegiance to the flag
of the United States of America.”
But united for who?
Because it’s not for me.
For years we stood on lies,
fighting for what was never ours.
We call the people of this country
proud and free
yet people still get hurt in the streets.
We’re divided by what’s right
and what’s wrong.
They tell us kids,
“Don’t worry your little head,
just play games and go to bed.”
But your plans are shaping our future.
Of course we’ll worry
because what you do
falls back on us.
“We don’t have to worry now,
we’ll fix it eventually,” they say.
But what does eventually mean to you?
Because in my eyes,
time feels slow,
decisions take forever,
and we’re left with nothing but hope.

makelonger

Answer 1

“I pledge allegiance to the flag
of the United States of America.”
But united for who?
Because it’s not for me.
For years we stood on lies,
fighting for what was never ours.
We call the people of this country
proud and free
yet people still get hurt in the streets.
We’re divided by what’s right
and what’s wrong.
They tell us kids,
“Don’t worry your little head,
just play games and go to bed.”
But your plans are shaping our future.
Of course we’ll worry
because what you do
falls back on us.
“We don’t have to worry now,
we’ll fix it eventually,” they say.
But what does eventually mean to you?
Because in my eyes,
time feels slow,
decisions take forever,
and we’re left with nothing but hope.

Hope is thin as thread,
stretched between promises
and headlines that forget names.
They teach us history like a trimmed garden,
roots cut out, flowers left to pose.
We memorize dates and plastic heroes
while the stories that hurt
sit in basements and on corners,
calling our names.
We salute the flag
but sometimes the flag folds around someone else's comfort,
not around the people who need shelter.
We sing of liberty
while liberty waits in line
behind profit and paperwork.

I watch grown men speak like gods,
handing down futures as if they are gifts
wrapped in old excuses.
They smell like aftershave and old laws,
and their solutions always arrive in packages
that don't fit our hands.
When they say "we'll get to it,"
I hear a calendar
with blank pages.
When they say "trust us,"
I hear the echo of broken trust
reverberating through neighborhoods
where lights blink out early.

We learn to count
in empty pockets and unpaid bills,
to measure worth
by test scores and Times articles.
We learn patience the hard way,
by waiting for roads to be paved,
for pain to be acknowledged,
for names to be read aloud.
And still we raise our voices,
small and fierce,
because quiet is a currency
we can't afford to spend.

So what do we do with this flag?
Do we wave it over graves of promises,
or do we plant it in soil we till?
Do we let the pledge be a lullaby
that lulls us into passivity,
or do we make it a promise
that we hold ourselves to?
I want a country that guards children
instead of guarding comfort,
that rewrites textbooks
to carry every story, not just the loudest.
I want leaders who hear
and don't file our lives under someday.

Maybe time moves slow
because progress is carrying weights
you refuse to feel.
Maybe "eventually" is a road map
drawn by those who walk with shoes on,
while we run barefoot through potholes.
But if hope is all we have left,
then let it be noisy.
If promises are deferred,
then let our patience be a threshold,
not a grave.

We will remember the names
they forget when cameras turn off.
We will plant ourselves
in town halls and on stoops,
in classrooms and in ballots.
We will learn the language of laws
and the cadence of change.
We will be louder than their excuses,
steadier than their postponements.

I pledge allegiance, yes,
but not to silence.
I pledge allegiance to the people
who have been told to wait,
to the hands that built and healed
without receiving thanks,
to the children who will inherit
both the ruin and the repair.
We are not content to hold our breath
until "eventually" arrives.
We will make it arrive.