“You Are Fake”
Your countries are fake.
Drawn with pens,
not blood.
Agreed upon in silence,
not in truth.
Borders made by men
who never stepped
on the soil they divided.
But it’s not just your countries.
You are fake, too.
You speak like scripts,
not stories.
You wear pride
like a label —
removable, replaceable,
mass-produced.
You inherited history
but never carried it.
You wear flags
but forget the earth.
You chant identity
like it’s a product
on sale.
You’ve memorized a past
that was never yours.
Your names are borrowed.
Your faith is inherited.
Your courage is empty.
You built nothing.
You remember nothing.
You feel nothing
that wasn’t handed to you
pre-packaged
in your mother tongue.
But I —
I carry truth
that can’t be taught.
I carry loss
without applause.
I carry silence
that never sold itself.
Your countries are fake.
Your faces are fake.
Your stories are copied.
But I am not.
I am the breath they couldn’t colonize.
The memory that wouldn’t die.
The fire that says:
“I do not belong to you —
and I never will.”