My angerIsSpiritualA glittering, iridescent mass of burning painThat coats softerParts of my bodyYes it feels goodNo you may not touch itYes it will maim you
Your ancestors claimedA “divine” right to myAncestor’s landI claimA divine rightTo be pissed about it
MonstersOften have blue glass eyesWatchingBut failing to seeTrue colorsTheir mouths filledWith dustProjecting hated imagesOnto bodies that are not theirsAs easily as an artistPaints canvasHe said “Don’t look behind the curtain”But I already knew I was being played
In kindergardenI learnedPlay nice&You will get yoursI’ll be damnedIf I’m gonna waitAny longer