Donald J. Trump

Fist for fist,
blood for blood,
your world is made of knives.
And you enlist
with the antithesis of good
to dismantle human lives.
My genome is a map of sexcapdes,
spanning through time and space.
While appearing to have white privilege,
I’m a bundle of the human race.
Race–a geopolitical concept,
not an actual scientific fact.
I only used the word, because it rhymed.
Times up, DJ–rhyme with that.
I’m African, Native, and a whole lot French
with British and German sprinkled in.
Blue eyes, high cheek bones, and 5’7″,
I’m a living history of colonization.
I’ll forever use my pigmented platform
to spit color into your world of black and white.
Southern ghosts might whisper in your ear,
but they continue to die in that fight.
Mostly DJ, I want your era-ians to know:
people like me are writing the history.
Your opinions aren’t facts and will not survive–
just example of what no person should be.

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