Despite all that I’ve done and the hate that I’ve known,
All the pain is of no use while wallowing there.
I’m becoming more racist with each passing day.
God in heaven, did my spirit plan it this way?
Why am I so responsive and what should I care
That I’ve chosen to work this one out on my own?

I never held the thought that my race is supreme.
Hatred is like a chess game. I’m prodded to move
In some awful direction. I don’t play that well.
I end up believing that I’m living in hell.
Just because I am hated that does hardly prove
That I’m stupid enough to go to the extreme.

Now the veil has been lifted. There’s no more pretense
That can make of the stomach and bowels a disease.
It makes it so much easier to sort them out.
I’m at war but my mission is without a doubt
To pay more attention only to things that please.
I don’t care for the illness so this does make sense.

I can know who I really am no matter what
The state of my surroundings may happen to be
And from there I’m in touch with a peace that is real.
There is nothing more important than how I feel.
I have much control over what happens to me.
I cannot learn to live with a heart that is shut.