You don’t have to mind that the world is unrefined; In places skewed like a puppet with too many strings incapable of dancing for itself; You don’t have to mind the few who devour everything and curse the poor for being poor or too sore to work for the rich bitch with the Palm Beach villa and the warm, wet Pacific for a lover; You don’t have to mind if the rage within screams for justice in an age of lawyers wary of their thoughts outside their courts where injustice squats on every street like the whore she is; You don’t have to mind if women get beaten and children get wasted on glue because they can’t afford the booze the adults choose to close their doors on the realities they do not choose to believe in, like shoes that fit but are out of style; You don’t have to mind the lies and bitter plans that expands an industry into tortured lands filled with willing but enslaved hands and butterflies no one counts; You don’t have to mind birth; You don’t have to mind death; You don’t have to mind the life between where laughter is bought and hatred is taught and somewhere between the sheets in a shabby bedroom in an old motel someone says something about hell.
You don’t have to mind but if you do your human mind is working, no shirking, but raw and red and real and loud and your morality isn’t built on similarity to the crowd. You mind because you’re proud of having seen what might have been.