Father of the year

By , Cloquet, MN
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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