I’m a winner when I’m selling myself.
When I’m shopping, poor me; I’m the victim.
Skill, will and bills don’t leave me on the shelf
It just doesn’t make sense that they pick him.
The field isn’t level and life isn’t fair
So it isn’t my fault that I’m losing.
They don’t like my accent, my nose, my hair,
Or the cheap aftershave that I’m using.
It has to be something I can’t control.
It has to be something arbitrary.
It has to be something from deep in that hole
Of a heart, or some grudge that they carry.
It has to be them. It cannot be me.
It’s my turn to win more decidedly.
Rev. Joel Tucker's Blog 