Not My President (my first attempt at slam poetry?)

A Cheeto in a suit and a toupee to match.
A man that is too small to fit his big suit.
A man with no obligation to his country.
A man who speaks for those who fill his pockets.
Not those people who fill the polls.
Green spills from this man's veins.
Red.
White.
Blue.
Those colours bleed from the immigrants at the wall.
The colours that his country was founded on.

(W.I.P)

I know politics is a touchy subject to really talk about. We are still forming our ideas since this is the first time most of us were allowed to vote in the polls. The year I was finally able to vote when I came of age I was left with two choices... both I wasn't entirely thrilled about.