Prowling, like a wolf on the periphery of the unknown betwixt knowledge and dread I saw the dark truth I felt the gulf the waste the expanse the difference in power the taste of defeat the vice grip of the inevitable the long, slow bleed of my dignity flowing out with the gold of my entrails eviscerated by my pride how I dared to topple the monolithic, undeniable truth that there is always a better you a better me a better us, out there stronger bigger faster smarter more hung more fashionable more handsome, more beautiful, more androgynous more capable more accomplished more patient more... loving more empathetic they know more random facts they've been more places they've known more people they've seen more sunrises they've counted every moon their worst is better than your best day he cares for her more deeply than you did she loves that she's forgotten you he tells her what he never told you and she loves him for that you were always afraid to find out they never invite you because you're not fun what a downer what a bore there's always that one person upon whom your envy is never sated they lope in moonlight flowing locks of grace teeth bared in a frightful grin they know all your cards they can play you like a fiddle they're out there where you fear to go the apex predator the person you'll never be but dream you could and dreams are all you'll have...
I'm a competitive person, by nature.
And this poem came to me as I realized, one night while gaming, that I'd never be the best at anything. I felt a sense of futility about any pride I've ever managed to feel concerning an accomplishment of mine.
I watched myself, small, in a sort of third-person view, question why it was I have ever striven for anything, when I continually run into my betters.
It was a scary realization. But, I believe, it's ever more scary when you have no powerful allies in the world, or when, even your allies fear the world at large, and you're all united in fear. It's a condition that humility fails to pacify.