lil’ what’s your problem

a tummy filed with donuts
is that why are you so rotten?
i wish i was dead and i wish you were dead
in your betrayal of jubilation
in your betrayal of good spirit
nothing can explore your silly, shallow holes because
they are only two inches deep
nothing, only a child’s green drum stick
grip my freakishly small hand with your freakishly small hand
as i snap off the green drum stick
all that remains is the chill
now unable to ride on your tricycle
at least try to ring the bell
you are finally sad
not just angry
yet there is a complete and hyena’s meaninglessness
in what you sing and
in your life and
in your resentment
of being so incredibly short and
of having to wear children’s clothes and
of playing a toy drum set
so you will eat meat and fasten to the destruction of
the peaceful and massive cow before us
it is again another way to pack more bitterness down your throat
you sit on the toilet with
your feet not touching the floor and struggle to defecate
blood is on the toilet paper
the door is open a little so i can see you
4 feet 10 inches tall
you imagine to yourself,
“that there are dildos taller than me.”
adjust the mirror down in the hotel room every morning
and look at your unexpressive and pancake like cheeks
so all this embarrassing hope can stop
inside you are more jaundiced than even your parent’s generation and
outside you make as if to be overjoyed
with inane, inane, inane dance moves and a
smile, smile, smile
that must prove to Korea how natural it is for you
to maintain them with cheap beanish contempt
and oh you think,
“they look down on my
thrust to behave like a clown.
they look down on me
but i can poke fun at their grief.”
and of grief
the one man who could tolerate the love has quit it
you would never ever be touchable
you would never ever be nice
your imperiousness stamping your grape sized lust
your imperiousness carousing the earth like a pig

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