I wrote this poem in May of 2025.
it’s the hunger games time again
I meant the MET Gala
where celebrities show off their ostentatious
and grotesque expensive outfits
while the majority of us are trying
to make sure all of the bills are paid,
wondering if we do indeed deserve our weekly treat
at starbucks, while some of us are being deported
to countries we don’t belong to
or that we don’t remember for the sole crime
of being brown and having the right documents
it’s the hunger games time again
oh I meant the MET Gala
and of course we’re shocked Sabrina
didn’t wear pants and that Rihanna is pregnant again
even though half a world away in Gaza,
moms are burying their children,
that’s if they’re lucky to find them under the rubble
and the Good Ole USA is on it’s way
to becoming a Nazi state and half of us
are in a cult devoted to Trump while the other half
are struggling and unsure of where
to look for comfort, for reprieve from all
of the fires burning
Life on the BPD 