Flowers and Tears

I was reading The Great Gatsby earlier this semester for my American Novel class and it gave me the inspiration for this poem:

Flowers and Tears

If personality 
is an unbroken series
of successful 
gestures, 
I am
a continuous middle finger
not tiring
from standing
tall,
even when slumped
in my chaise.

Exempt from
consequences
all my actions
steeped in
dirt.
Maybe my baby
is crying
somewhere,
in this drunken haze
I can't tell if these
tears are mine 
or hers
or the country's.

They don't belong to
the slaves of America,
but slaves 
of the American Dream.
When I smile
the S's,
two vertical blades
slicing through,
sparkle in my
irises.

The sparkle
is drunken
in thirsty gulps
and
when only ice
is left
my eyes reflect back
this 
dream of America,
devoid.