I am Donald J. Trump’s hair.
I am the sad mop on the top of his head.
I have witnessed many comments aimed towards me, ridiculed for my style.
I live a life of pure misery simply being tousled.
When the wind rushes towards me and lifts me up, they say to me:
“O mop of hair, O HOTUS*, do you not wish to leave this restricting confinement?”
I simply come down from the wind’s embrace and reply,
“I am here to stay for as long as that wretched doctor prescribes him, my host, Donald John Trump, the medications for my growth”.
I let out a sigh,
Dear reader, will you release me from my prison?
Dear reader, will you have mercy on me?
Dear reader, will you save me?
Dear reader, will you, to the very least, HELP me?
* HOTUS stands for “Hair of the United States”