To the Child in the White House

You hide from your secrets like a rodent from the storm,

Burrowing deep into your gold-plated tunnels.

Spreading lies amongst your dull litter; you play the victim.

Casting out orders and accusations through your blue hued screen.

You say the birds can’t sing anymore.

Why should they at all, if not for your approval?

You try to steal and silence their song, offended by facts.

For anyone who sings a different song than yours must be a fool.

Land built on the idea of sanctuary has become one of separation.

You're a false prophet, whose sermons breed an army of imbeciles.

Your subjects, brandished with a scarlet letter of stupidity atop their heads.

They lumber around, your cattle who prefer weeds to fresh grass.

You crouch behind your desk, desperate for a distraction from your past sins.

You order the bombs, but look away, ignoring their devastating impact.

The soldiers close their eyes, bracing themselves for their unnecessary end.

The blood and oil seep across the globe in your never-ending hunger for wealth.

Your worms whisper in your ear and follow you blindly.

They help shame those brave enough to be themselves.

You hold on to the past, suffocating our future.

Your blinders of narcissism inherently make you a danger to all.

You are not men, but children, weak and fearful.

You confuse bullying with strength, and empathy for cowardice.

You corrupt religions, minds, and souls.

You force innocent children upon your lap, scarring them with your kiss.

You’re temporary and you know it.

Fear and doubt are all you have, but they’re running out.

Your filth has stained the white walls you hide behind.

But I’ll keep a paintbrush for a fresh count once you’re gone.

You might say I’m young and foolish, but I see through your lies.

When your crown is taken, your money won’t spare you.

You were here first, but I’ll be here when you fall.

Watching as your decrepit body is lowered beneath the earth you once spat upon.