You won’t let me be great,
Because your father wasn’t great.
I can’t see you, if my poetry is good—
You think I’m courting other women
When my poetry is good, even though it’s not me—
I love you. It’s the good poetry.
But yes it is me, if it’s the poetry.
If I’m loved, I’m sorry.
I’m sorry if I’m president and I have a beautiful wife.
I guess I ruined your life.
Your job makes you anxious. Democracy
Is neglectful leadership. And my poetry
Gains me lovers, not voters. Democracy
Doesn’t know anything, unlike poetry.
But there’s hope for you. Beauty
Is hope combined with the sad.
I hope this poem isn’t making you mad.
There’s hope for you. And do you know why?
I know it’s awkward in life, but in my poem
I’m going to tell you and look you directly in the eye,
Almost like facing down a dog, or a cat.
(A dog might respond, but a cat wouldn’t like that)
And here’s why there’s hope for you:
Life is nothing but a long road of revenge.
Revenge is what motivates us all.
You were cursing a lot on twitter yesterday.
You feel it. And when I fall,
You’ll be strong. That’s all I really have to say.