We tolerated in silence, though voices burned,
Through eight long years, our patience learned.
But now, scorched earth lies where fields once grew,
You call for harvest—do you think we’re through?
We remember the years, the relentless fight,
Impeachments, resistance, attacks in plain sight.
The names we were called, the hatred, the jeers,
The riots, the lies, the weaponized smears.
We remember the threats, the jobs that were lost,
Supporters attacked, lines violently crossed.
A severed head held high for applause,
Plays of death funded with public cause.
We remember the speeches, the venom, the hate,
The media spinning at dizzying rates.
The spied-on staff, the governors’ games,
The comedy shows that slandered our names.
We remember the ballots, the endless stain,
“Not my president,” a familiar refrain.
The doxing, the shouting, the calls for camps,
The streets alive with the mobs’ cruel chants.
We remember it all, it’s carved in our mind,
The insults, the slander, the sneers unkind.
And now you ask us to forget, to forgive,
But memories linger; they continue to live.
A nation divided, the scars run deep,
You sowed the storm—what harvest do you reap?
Truth and justice, though buried, survive,
And the spirit of millions will keep them alive.
WoPoLi 
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