Pride

Don't draft me for weekend presentations when Monday finds your chair empty.

Don't school me on lessons I've mastered over a lifetime.

Don't mistake me for a rookie—

My ego knows its girth,

My pride, its tenacious grip.

Once a king, crown gloriously intact,

Now reduced to a peasant,

My castle shrunk to a humble hut,

My courtiers, just a cat and a handful of stragglers.

I expected a journey toward humility,

Yet here I am, unearthing deeper layers of pride,

Cutting myself on each sharp edge.

I used to seize victories—even undeserved,

Winning was woven into my being.

Then came the loss, and now defeat is all I brew,

And still, this knowledge crushes my pride,

My ego, a beast that refuses to rest.