I was walking down the national mall in washington d.c. the other day and i suddenly realized this country is mine more so than theirs, the ones who have money, wealth, and have never suffered the pain of never having enough nor ever looking around and sayingbecause by looking around, at the black wall remembering the dead in vietnam, the world war two memorial, all the buses lined up, arriving and departing, like the body bags wherever they find themselves, tucked in some foxhole, oswampland, thats not your carolinas hometown, man, not deporting, all those veterans, and their families, who may have voted for them, only to keep embracing the sacrifices made, making sure its their country too. But sacrifice and pain isnt the only realixation i felt. Not just the memorials but the ideals represented in the monuments to mlk, jefferson, lincoln, and the museums dedicated to african americans, native americans, that tell a different story, the story ideals upon which we all have strived and sometimes died for, the ideals of freedoms of love, peace, and prosperity for all, even though sometimes different than the one america told itself about itself, that still this country is theirs as well as mine and i wondered why, if it wasnt so, why the vets wouldnt visit the mlk monument, which brought tears to my eyes, my eyes that rarely speak in those emotions, why vets couldnt visit en masse, in buses, the mlk monument and why the multitude of visitors for mlk couldnt just walk over and visit the vietnam memorial and world war two memorial, and raise up their hands, or fists, or whatever suits all of us, and say in unison, this is our country, this is our land, and we're taking it back because we love it, from sea to shining sea, from the mountaintop to the valley below, from the heart and from the soul, we're never going to let it go again, together black and white and all the colors and dreams between, we're taking it back.
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