This Language Of Alone Poem by Broken Shell

We exchange looks and recognize the way of our own people.

This nation never had a voice before and yet outnumbered the sands of the seas.

We had high hopes and woke up excited as children.

We understood the pain when seeing a heart break for the first time
and yet feign surprise anything so tragic could happen to avoid detection.

We live out our forfeited lives and go through the motions.

Those outside our tribes scarcely understand a single syllable.

I know what it's like to have had citizenship in all the other lands foreign now and yet, which one of us who know all too well

Could pretend to lose our fluency or comprehension

of this language of alone?