If I was given three minutes of airtime on Super Bowl Sunday, I’d spit a spoken word poem that goes something like this:

America, you are in need of guardian angels! Did you know that angel’s cast spells? You should know that because you never know when you might need protection from the unseen – like all of the subliminal destruction broadcast over these airwaves on the daily. Like right now, if this poem wasn’t permeating your consciousness, would you be salivating over the new Lexus or Victoria Secret models bouncing carelessly on a trampoline in the moonlight? Would you rise off this couch six hours from now (if you include pregame), refreshed or improved in any way or would you have just internalized 7,000 more advertisements, out of which one or two might make for good conversation with the guy in the cubicle next to you tomorrow morning? I say you – what of the acne-covered teenage faces and stretched mommy vaginas who haven’t seen the inside of yoga pants for 10 months and definitely won’t be fitting into any of that lingerie? What of those with darker complexion who don’t photoshop as nicely?

We only see these images on a screen, through one lens. Pixels pixelating themselves in high definition leave out so many dimensions and so many voices are unheard because they are too round, perhaps too plump, perhaps too wrinkly for HD, perhaps too stretch marked, too blemished, which is to say – too realistic. So many of us are too three-dimensional for the space of television, which is to say, – too dangerous – because the media is the great distorter. And to broadcast truth is to challenge the hegemonic grasp of America’s favored sons and daughters as they recline backwards on their Lazy Boy’s and speak of meritocracy without a hint of hypocrisy in their voices. And not once do their toes meet the soft blades of grass upon which the people gather because that field is too remote for the control of their spin rooms and halftime shows. Here, we be unadorned yo. Your products just can’t provide all that we need, so it’s about time we look inwards and turn the fight against ourselves, which you have constructed, outwards – and so hereby this poem, we appeal to you, the American media:

No longer will your socially constructed images of beauty distort our sense of self. We shall see ourselves how we actually be – how we actually exist in actuality because those two images are profoundly different according to you. No longer will we internalize your false projections because we, the children of the stars above us, are more lovable and worthy and whole than your 30-second profit-driven campaigns of consumerism give us credit for. We encourage you to change your ways but if your ways are not changed we will change them. We will commandeer every social media platform until the reality of the people has been projected to the world.

We might show pregnant women dancing on trampolines in the moonlight with their husbands holding their hands as they build their families. We might show teenagers with acne who are happy without ProActive. We might show someone getting a date without being covered in body spray. We might show poor people who aren’t lazy or cheating the system or looking for handouts, but holding down jobs and struggling to get by. We might show black men who aren’t violent thugs, but college students and doctors. We might show women whose hip bones and ribs aren’t visible, but who still love themselves with a fullness of the heart. We might show flowers blooming in Palestine alongside bomb shells that our government provided. We might show Muslims who don’t condone violence. And there will be angels. Yup. Angels. Praying. Casting spells. For those who can’t see the unseen. Best stay tuned.

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