Decent People

Decent People

I’ve done nothing wrong.

I was raised on soil,

on names,

on truths that built this place.

And now you tell me

to bow,

to doubt,

to unlearn.

I will not.

I owe no apology

for the blood in my veins,

the stories I keep,

the pride I carry.

You call it hate —

I call it home.

You call it fear —

I call it knowing

where I belong.

I am not lost.

I see clearly.

It is you

who drift,

who tear down

what you could never build.

I stand on ground

my fathers worked,

under a flag

they bled to raise.

I will not kneel.

I will not forget.

My beliefs are not wrong.

My voice will not fade.

And when the time comes,

I will rise

with all those

you tried to silence.

But wait —

Are we not the decent ones?

Those of us who defend the old ways,

who honor what came before,

who stand for what is right?

Then why do I feel this knot in my chest,

this whisper in my mind?

Why does it sting when I see others

called to stand alongside us,

and yet we mock them,

shame them for speaking truth?

Maybe it’s not us who are lost.

Maybe the ones who call us “decency”

are not the ones who walk in it.

They say we must guard the truth,

but truth isn’t theirs to own.

They sell it like a commodity,

but it isn’t theirs to trade.

We are decent.

We are the ones who honor our history.

We are the ones who protect the weak,

who stay faithful to our word.

We are the ones who know what it means

to care for those we love.

And if we’ve been led astray,

if our hands have been used to tear

instead of build,

then we will change.

We will see clearly.

We will rise again,

with the strength of the truth

we never abandoned.