There’s a need to sound racist. It gets to some truth.
Human rubbish are one race. We make oneness smell
Like a trip to the outhouse that we keep inside
Where the heart is a black hole releasing no pride.
We’ve made this world our dumpster. Within it we dwell,
Self-Importantly arrogant and quite uncouth.
On the flip side of privilege, there are the poor.
That’s the primary reason we don’t get along.
Most will never know wealth nor the pleasures thereof.
Somewhat sick as a race, then, it’s hard to show love.
So, we single out certain groups and make them wrong.
There’s a point at which reason we vow to ignore.
Yet is this too simplistic? To speak about hate
In a tame enough manner and still get things clear
Is a task not worth trying. The trash in my mind
That blows in from the outside is not of my kind.
All my hatred can do is rekindle my fear
That we’re all not the same trash. I’m here to create.