(sooo I had to write a poem for my British literature class and my grandma gave me an idea. She said "why not make it a love poem?" So I thought "well now I know exactly who to write about.")
I’m in love with a raisin man
Whose skin is rugged, torn, ridged, and ruined
Whose eyes are darker than night with no sun, no stars, no moon
Whose hair has ceased to stay with his scalp.
He wears red, tattered robes and a hat of maroon
And the colors of American blood around his navel
Which holds together the dystopia that was created
when they couldn’t hold together the utopia they created.
He lives in my electricity, never t