I am a compassionate man,

Born where bullets clutter the sidewalk.¹

And before leaving I want

To leave my burning passion

To warm the hearts of corrupt politicians.

My verse is a cherry red,

And a burning flame that singes the soul.

My verse is a child who can’t walk down the street

Who has to witness a slaughter every week.²

I hold hands

As I do with a lover

With the sincere but ignorant friend

Who disagrees with me,

But supports my cause.

And for the brutish ones,

Who scream their obscenities of their “rights”

Who would rather see countless children murdered

Than have to turn over their firearms,

I do not form flowers-

I form thorns.³

For the parents who have lost their children,

I want to share my sympathy.

The hearts of victims

Mean more to me than the money of the greedy.

¹8:18 by The Devil Wears Prada

²Lock and Load by The Devil Wears Prada

 ­³A Wise Man am I by José Martí