Dear Coca-Cola
(and every sweet lie that ruined us)
Fuck you
for turning my childhood
into a checkout aisle.
For wrapping poison
in red and white nostalgia,
and calling it refreshment.
You came with sparkle,
with ads of smiling kids
and sunsets no one in my family ever saw.
You sold belonging
in a bottle.
But all I got
was decay.
Rotting teeth,
rotting land,
rotting traditions
under the weight of imported sugar.
You weren’t just a drink.
You were the front line of empire.
You taught us that sweetness
comes from outside.
That real taste
is something packaged.
You colonized our cravings.
You replaced dried fruit and homemade syrup
with syrup made in hell.
You made us want
things that never wanted us.
For turning the cola nut into poison,
you will never be forgiven.
And while we choked on that sweetness,
others blew smoke into our faces—
strangers, family, lovers,
turning every breath
into ash.
You all ruined oxygen for me.
You made my days
cigarette-filled,
headache-heavy,
airless.
Now we’re sick.
Now we’re addicted.
Now we’re empty.
And you’re still smiling on billboards,
still pretending it’s joy.
But I remember.
And I spit you out.
Don’t think you’ve won.