My time in America has taught me much,
But nothing as important as my prominent skill.
So, I will explain to you as such,
The power of a politician's will.
It is not education or eloquence, per se,
But a manner of tongue's fortitude.
To let the words flow a certain way,
And requires a calm, strong attitude.
I suppose I should mention now,
My writing skills are less than refined,
I've never written a poem until now,
And most of these words to be defined,
I failed through school for many years,
Likely because I'm not smart.
Prison taught me life's greatest fear,
Is being incapable of art.
So I will now make up for time lost,
By writing a life's worth right now.
Through sun, rain or frost,
I will continue to read it, somehow.
Perhaps by the end of it, I'll be good,
Good enough for you to not mind.
Or perhaps it will never be understood,
Souring your faces like a lemon rind.

However, it matters not to me,
For now, I am an artist deep down.
So this will become a medium to be,
Something of note, though you may frown,
Perhaps I will become nothing but a joke,
But being a joke is better than being me.
So upon these garbage lines will I choke,
And for once, I'll feel free.

I love to eat sushi, and rice,
Rice is very tasty and nice,
Rice is nice, because I'm not mice,
Likely why I also like ice.
If I was a mice, would I like rice?
Likely not, I thought about it twice.
But if I was rice, would I like mice?
Probably not, rice cannot think.

Alas, I diverged for a moment, woefully so,
But I saw a mouse skitter across the ground,
It has a freedom I do not know,
One that cannot simply be found.
Perhaps because of this, I envy it so,
Wishing I had a tail and whiskers as well,
So I may roam free, wherever I go, Rather than remain locked in this hell.

Though, I suppose in a way that is what's next,
I'll be freeing myself from this prison called life,
Though what is next has me vexed,
For it'll likely be one filled with strife,
One hell to another, that is my fate,
A fate I deserve for killing my child,
It was an accident, not just hate,
Yet nonetheless my soul is defiled.
I am scum, worthless, and alone,
As I should be for the size of my sins,
So I'll meet the devil sitting upon his throne,
And await as my next life sentence begins.

This poem has been my only free act,
A destiny that I control.
It seems fitting I misused it, no grace or tact,
But it's over now- I must cleanse my soul.