Pam, you broke my heart.
You are a fart.
I will never forgive you for burning my feathers.
And stomping my crown.
Trump won in your world.
But not in mine.
I hope you step on a pointy lego.
And get lime juice in your eye.
The next time you make a margarita.
I can’t imagine you ever making a margarita.
But that’s the only thing I can think of with lime juice in it.
You held me in your arms.
Only to turn around and stab me in the foot.
I limped away.
Broken and bleeding.
As you smiled and laughed.
In your twisted Trump world.
I try to forgive.
But when I look into your eyes I feel that stabbing pain again.
When I finally healed, I climbed Trump tower and stood on top.
I climbed for hours.
The tower was below me.
And I felt free, uncaged.
As if I could finally breath.
You took the elevator and shoved me off.
You couldn’t even climb the tower, as I did?
As I fell, I didn’t scream.
Because I thought Bernie would save me.
But he was away doing other things.
When I hit that cold New York pavement, Mercy wasn’t there.
I kept on living.
Blood soaking my hair.
See what your deception has done, my dear?