I call for the spirit of America to appear before me.
She blazed forth in shining glory
She is beautiful and tall
She is Liberty, Truth and Justice for all
But that ain’t really the spirit of America.
That is what the spirit of America would like to be
That image dissolves and another takes its place.
He is a monstrously fat man.
Yet not with the shape of a man
No, he is an infant, grown to terrible size
Sitting on his rotund behind
His hideous gut straining with the excess of his insatiable appetites.
He wears a stained bib, not old stains but covered in a thick layer of muck
His mouth and the whole front of him is dirty
He is unwashed and unkempt. He sits in his little dark room.
All the guests who come to see the shinning lady upstairs
Nobody comes down here to see the man behind the curtain
Nobody ever wants to.
He smiles his wicked smile.
He is a child, immature, yet with possessiveness and malice to spare.
In his presence you are unimportant to him.
He eagerly eats whatever food is offered to him, he cares not for its quality.
He gorges himself, stuffing as much into his mouth, it drips and spills as much as it gets inside of him. It all gets mixed together as a horrible mass on the floor.
This is the untutored, undisciplined spirit of America.
He is absolutely certain of his self-importance, and cares not for anybody else
Just because he had never been taught how.
No one is here to guide his development or provide him with boundaries
So he gorges and he grows without thought or consideration.
He would eat himself to death and not care.
Apathy guards his tender spots from closer inspection.
It dulls his pain and inhibits the inspection of anything troublesome.
He is coddled and pampered into a spoiled rotten brat.
Incapable of genuine independence, he is at the mercy of his caregivers
Skillful manipulators who know how to get him to do as they wish.
He will eat whatever they feed him, because his hunger is never ending
He is ignorant of what it feels like to be full. He knows only transitory moments of satisfaction. They never last, and he is left hungry again.
When he sleeps, he is sad. He doesn’t know why.
He is sad because he could have been more.
He could have been something great.
Instead he is critically underdeveloped
With a beautiful shell, a perfect mask.
Those who admire him and wish him well, see only what he wants them to see.
Those who despair for him know his more retched state.