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In my country, there are hypocrites and everyone is an expert.

Tongues have lynching superpowers, officials are not there to help you, but to humiliate you, then attempt to buy you out.

In my country, if a motorcycle hits your car, parked on the side of the road or even your garage, it’s your fault

If a man suicides on your car roof, you pushed him

In my country, if a woman gets raped, she marries her rapist and justice is served.

In my country, two people of the same gender are convicted for falling in love but raping a goat is ok, rape is justified by late night strolls and slutty-ness.

In my country, if you are witnessing a quarrel, unless someone is shot, security forces watch.

In my country, a woman cannot grant her child her prestigious Lebanese nationality, (because we are special)

In my country, falling in love with someone from another religion necessitates crossing seas but not for honeymoon purposes alone

In my country, water and electricity are a luxury and did I mention 3G?

In my country, roads and buildings have criminal intent

And in my country, there are liars and thieves

Who lie to us and steal from us

And there is us who are lied to and stolen from

There is us who are not loud enough and us who are not brave enough

There is us who are hypocrites and us who are silent

There is us who are wronged and us who are blamed.

In my country, there is us and them and we.

In my country, “I” is slaughtered by the sidewalk.