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Father of the year
March 17, 2009
You spit,
your spinndled words horrify me
your foot crashes to the ground like thunder.
Anger fills you, overflows, and you rise above the ceiling, past the stars;
as fear shrunk me to your feet, like a sacred vow.
I surrender;
But I will not be dictated, I will not be a civilian to your facist government.
You can sting me with your hands, but not break something that cannot be broken.
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