Our children are dying.

I suggest we get everyone into the cafeteria and just talk. And feel. Together.

Box up my clothing for Goodwill,

and give the poor my Nordic Track.

Donate my car to crippled kids,

or to those ghetto moms on crack.

Give them my hats and my CDs,

my pumps and my flats, my three TVs!

Deep inside of everyone

There's a hot ball of shame

Guilt, regret, anxiety,

Fears we dare not name.

But, if we show the ugly parts

That we hide away,

They turn out to be beautiful

By the light of day.