Shall I deal with the world

As it is

And cease to be a poet

I exist in a space

That is neither fact

Nor fiction

I grew up on faucet water

Lived on Sesame Street

Where Mr. Rogers was my neighbor

Didn’t know we were poor

Cause Grandma insisted

We were blessed and highly favored

When you're gold in an age of plastic

You'd think you'd be celebrated

Even venerated

But there's so much hatred it's

Codified

In a world of additives and preservatives

She was born in a burned-out crack house

In the Bronx

Was predicted to live no longer than a month

Yet She survived, thrived under adversity

And I don’t know what’s worse to me

That She was sold by those who claimed