It is not the differences among people that has caused violence
But the fact that we are so similar
We seek to demean others so that we feel superior
In the back of our minds (deeply repressed in most) we know we are all equal
And that is scary because most did not grow up feeling equal
Many were told that they were special, the best, the most unique
While other were told that they weren't worth nearly as much as a drink
So it is in this feeling of disappointment upon uncovering the truth that makes us the same
One is taken down a notch while the other is brought up to a level plane;
We are all vying to be different rather than to be ourselves, to be seen as special in some way
So try being yourself instead of being different, and realize we’re all the same

Today a man exclaimed “I am the son of God!”
“Lock him up!” they said, surely his mind has gone
The judge claimed he had slain three men
And had him rest his hand upon
A book in which a man exclaimed “I am the son of God!”
The man was puzzled and asked “Have you read this?”
The judge answered with a firm nod
“Than how can you be so sure my earlier claim was wrong?”

I fell in love with the witch doctor
The first day I laid eyes on her
I fell upon the decision that science and religion were not for me
In the end, they seem equally wishy washy
And the witch doctor had taught me spirituality
“Believe what you feel” she said, then anything may be true
This creates a reality that is totally up to you
Alluring is this sense of choice and grandeur
But it creates a slave who is his own master
When it is to simple chemicals in the brain that you pander;  
I fell in love with the lie, that what you feel is what you know
I fell in love with idea that there may be choice in this violent ebb and flow
But as the cycles continue I see my agency grow less and less
As the world tosses both I and the witchdoctor in a frenzied pirouette

She looks on with the famished eyes of a glass heart half full
Barren,lifeless,childless
A half moon more than empty
White light like smooth skin touching with even intention
She recedes from what she does not mention
Pondering craters and cradles

I am a tree bearing it all
She is my leaves I watch her fall
If she's pretty enough they'll put her in a book or in a frame on the wall
But I'll still be standing here in the wind cold and tall
Just burn me down i'm tired of standing here alone
Maybe if you plant a forest of friends I could call it home
I could be turned into a chair or fire light to be shone
I'll be something useful even if all I am is owned

Dear woman, lady, girl
Please step on the scale
Record the number
And now know the worth of your character
Look in the mirror to address your moral fiber
Forget your mind and make your tummy tighter;
When you were young you wanted to be a scientist or a fire fighter
But you were taught to be a missionary, a cowgirl,
or to live for *******
And this leave's so many crying because their bodies can't take them any higher
This is what it means to be culturally bankrupt;
We've come to value the cocoon over the butterfly
The shell of the egg over the yolk
The ship over the goods it carries
The body over mind
The vessel over the person

There’s a man of deception in our midst
One who sees another's joy and claims it as his
Feeding on people's past pity and the attention they give
But can you even say that he lives?
If so it is at very best second hand
Surviving by scraping the boots of other’s plans
So called friends are only means to an end
Markers of time in the hourglass, potential gains, grains of sand
But in the end all he has is himself
A miserable man in a miserable shell
And at death’s door no one will hear his cry for help
He’s forgotten how to use his own voice
For his voice in life had been stolen from someone else