Adelaide Young

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Too Used To America

I don't want to keep reading the news.
But still I turn the pages or scroll until I am through

Each headline, screaming louder until the noise becomes a broken symphony.
A brutal chorus full of yells, some from the page and some me

Saying, How did we ever become used to this?

My mind screams look away, the American dream has been struck with a knife.
Plug your ears shut your eyes so you can't feel the strife.

Because we can flip the channel, but the stories won't change.
And the worst part is the stories don't even seem strange,

How did we ever become used to this?

Some people start their morning with a beautiful sunrise,
And some start it with a shooting and lists of those who've survived.

In our mornings, reports of hit and runs and sex scandals and racism all come to light
And they keep circling us and closing in every second until the night,

When we sleep fitfully, asking ourselves "How did we ever become used to this? "

Apparently America is too split apart by politics and past and present and debates on American values
To even stand together for a single moment and face the cold hard shocking truth

That America? Well it's no better than the rest of the world so why do we even bother pretending?
Claiming we are the beginning of the future when the dream's already ending.

How did we ever become used to this?

To the fear that we might end our day as just another number on a news screen.
To this American flag where the stars are all bullet holes and the stripes just aren't clean.

We are so split apart by religion but it doesn't matter to whom you pray
Because no matter what, this nightmare just won't go away.

How did we ever become used to this?

To this constant creeping fever dream that lurks in the shadows, yearning to pull us into the pit
And we turn our backs but when we see the news, we know that we ourselves just barely outran it.

But not everyone is so lucky because apparently freedom comes with collateral damage.
And so we run and we run and we run and somehow we manage

To get used to it.

I don't want to read the news anymore.
Because I'm too afraid that one day I'll hear a knock on the door,

And standing on the porch will be the reality of the American dream.
And it will grab me even though I'm awake not asleep

Because you can only run blindly for so long before a shot in the dark lands a hit.
You see, I don't want to read the news anymore, because I'm afraid one day I'll be it.

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