this anger

heard somebody say am a bitter lad,
angry with ownself,
angry with the world,
angry with the society,
that brought me in,
and bred me up,
for they can't find the roots of my anger,
and so they can never really understand,
to what bitterness my anger swells,
but i sure am bitter and angry,
bitter with self for many a reason,
bitter 'coz i can't feed these hungry children,
whose eyes look unto me as their only hope,
bitter 'coz i can't house that homeless old man,
yet to my six by six bed i sleep sound,
bitter coz i can't dress that naked lady,
and so evil men a ran by lust,
and turns take on her,
angry with the world i get,
angry for the degradation,
of that African woman,
angry for the morals they have corrupt,
where sex sells and content exppeled,
angry for the death of Malcom X,
Martin Luther,
and Tupac a brother i never had,
angry to the wars they start,
the blood shedding in the middle east,
but never can i be angry,
with the society that helps me,
never angry with the uncle that fed me,
working his ass out to feed another mans' son,
never angry with the lady that tore my heart,
life basic lessons she taught me,
of pain that was doomed to come,
never angry with friends i hanged out with,
for when i fell their arms reached out to me,
so to you that seek to know of my anger,
its roots never lie within,
but springs to the strangers,
that make rules to ruin my world