I Understand Hamilton in a Way That You Don’t

I understand Hamilton in a way that you don’t.

I AM Alexander Hamilton, writing like I’m running out of time.

I’m Eliza. Helpless in love. A woman wanting to be a part of the narrative. Teaching my kid piano.

Both, white, seeing the poor treatment of non white but

Aaron Burr. Never in the room where it happens.

I’m King George losing my country.

Eliza. “Take a break.” Helpless.

I fear I’ll be Eliza. Unimaginable. Counting is for lessons, not for fighting.

Alexander Hamilton. Can’t talk less. Can’t smile more.

Not Eliza. Tell the story of someone who didn’t make me part of the narrative?

Not Lin-Manuel Miranda. God I wish I were.

You understand Hamilton in a way that I don’t.

And you.

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