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Deadline. Judgement Day.
And I was only halfway done
and I was supposed to
get fired,
get sued,
not get paid,
and get thrown into jail
by the country’s most powerful man
but they go over my work
and only say, “This is great.
We’ll wait for you to finish
as long as it takes.”

The world spoils me that way.
And I have this rebellious thought
that people shouldn’t let me
get away with everything…

But that didn’t stop me from hoping
that you would also show up at my door
and tell me, “I didn’t spend
eight consecutive hours
reading your poetry
only to let you walk away from me.”

And I hate that you wouldn’t spoil me.
And I love that you wouldn’t spoil me.
Because being read by a single man 279 times
is better than being read by 279 men
at a single time and someone’s got to
take me down a peg
and from time to time
force me to settle
for second best.