What can I say please you?
I mean, what can I say to please you that would please me to say to you?
I've tried to think about what I'm saying through
But you sneer at me and tell me that I don't have a clue
And you're right, I don't... I don't have a clue why I care what you think
Maybe it's because I'm male and white, guilt has become my first intinct
The lines between what I, a woman, or an african american can get away with are indistinct
In all but the first, to which all of history's ill behaviour has been linked
Even with this understanding of my once free speech's confines
I grow tired at the center of controversy surrounding my poetry's lines
But, then again, maybe being outraged at damn near anything is just a sign o' the times
I know you want to keep my opinion out of your face like the point of horse blinds
But, isn't my opinion just as valid as yours, even if yours is back by the Politically Correct?
And mine is just mine. Do I really need to keep my insurrection in check?
If so, why? I just don't happen to agree that the world should be pretty and perfect
I recognise your opinion, and if it's not in my face, your's is an opinion I'll attempt to protect
Yet, here we are, and I'm a white male feeling guilty for believing your direct opposite
While you spew your opinion over me, making me permeate strongly of your bullshit
And, I'll keep quiet about it, more often than not, wiping away your verbal spit
Because I said the wrong thing at the wrong time being the wrong gender and color of person to say it.

-David "Dingo" Bleecher