A contest poem for Hilary Clinton
It's not the fact, that I feel so numb, when people come at me. It's not the fact, that I cry out loud for reasons I can't see. It's not the fact, that you said you loved me, all those years ago, when I sat upon your knee. It is this reason for all the seasons, that you make me feel aglow. I cannot tell. My mind does swell. I hate this, well. Stop --bothering me -- Hell. It is the fact, we still get along, as we sing this song. You make me laugh, my hands you grasp. While listening to this poem.
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