I couldn't talk about it so I wrote a poem

TRUTH By: Kimberley Pittman There's history in heathens; the Earth has been our home, Though lost in our own hell, it's a place we've come to own. My heart is gold, yet its worth is judged by you, And though I seek no throne, I'm caged within this zoo. You fight for what you can't control; my mind is not your prize, I own this, I bought this—unto thine own self be wise. Yes, I fear you, when each day begins anew, But by nightfall, I remember you're a sinner too. If it were up to you, I know where I'd be, But you made me, you broke me, and yet, I broke free. Your words caution not to covet, so I cherish what I've earned, Thanking Jesus, while your envy from the throne remains unlearned. Sit down and recall, you once walked this ground, It was wretched, you despised it, until your God lifted you around. He led you through streets paved with our hellish gold, Lined with human hearts and every soul sold. Truth lies beneath your feet, each step you take, In this heaven and hell, it's my heart that you break. Mind control is for the faithless, still they soar, Eternity remains unknown, yet I seek no more.In my theory, when I go, I'll return to this track, Heart in tow, though my mind will not come back. The mind can depart the body, but neither parts the soul, A truth I've known forever, a tale endlessly told.