Rose-Colored Glasses

The rose-colored glasses were shattered on the floor
Multifaceted refractions bouncing off the jagged pieces 
Begging to be picked up and placed together in a puzzle like no other

She wanted to go back before it all began 
Before they had taken the glasses she had used to see 
And shattered them on the street
And shattered them on socials and in society 

The rose-colored glasses were shattered on the floor
Each jarring judgment a rip in the shield 
That screened her sorry sight

She wanted to go back before it all began
Before the annoyed demands to “Just Acclimate.” 
Before the ignorant answers of “This isn’t America.” 
Before the hateful, hard, headstrong words that London should be “Home”

The rose-colored glasses were shattered on the floor
Her fractured fingers not wanting to fix the punctured pieces 
Fighting against the fuming words they formulated

She wanted  to go back before it all began
This was no home to her when she was only here eleven weeks at a time
This was no America but she was American and acclimating would abandon her being
This was who she was 

The rose-colored glasses were shattered on the floor
Swift feet step over the scattered signs 
Moving forward towards her own life

And if they didn’t like that 
Oh well.