You with the sign,
and the C-4 in your pocket;
Your righteous indignation camouflaged
only by that Cheshire cat grin.
Before you exact your toll on me,
Sentence me to my plight…
Walk a mile in my shoes.
I am a crack baby, born with A.I.D.S.
I am poor, adopting parents object
to the color of my skin, and I cry a lot.
I am the shameful bastard child
that reminds you of your indiscretion.
I am born to parents who not only hate each other,
but also hate me, because their one night of pleasure
resulted in a lifelong taxation.
I am neglected, beaten, raped, and abused,
as I am left in the competent
hands of the foster care system.
Your tax dollars guarantee
I receive my share of suffering.
You seek to make your religion everybody’s law!
How could a loving God condone this kind of torment?
I wish for you a swift and final reckoning…
That your private hell begins
with living out all of the lives,
of those you sought to bring forth
into an unforgiving world
where they were…