Oh, how we always like to be right.

From the way we victimize ourselves
Until we've guilted our way out of the blame,
To the way we create anguish inside us
So that someone will save us.

What a twisted world this is, inside our heads,
Where we are both vanquished and conqueror.

It stems, I think, from a certain kind of pride
That we wish wasn't there yet we guard with our lives

As if Light in this world just didn't suffice
As if only the darkness could give us a life

Then we fell, so far
From our Birchwood, wobbling
Seat, and met the truth.

(c) 2018 Indigo Kenna