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On Pride

A woman in a plum gown stands tall with her back to us in a dark auction house as hands raise bidding paddles around her; a crown of light hovers above her head

Pride is a double-edged sword
Makes you full even when stomach is growling
Stops you from going to places you originally love
Avoid people no matter how much you need them
Making your world smaller with every grudge you refuse to let go
But at the end of the day, you'll tap your shoulder and say "I'm proud of you and happy you're you"

A hand holds a bell jar over a tiny room whose doors and windows are bricked up, an empty plate on its table

Because pride is also the armor that keeps you standing when everything else says kneel
The voice that whispers "you're worth more" when the world tries to discount you
The invisible crown only you can feel but everyone can see
What makes you walk away instead of settling for scraps

An empty suit of armor stands alone in a beam of light beneath a floating crown, refusing the scraps scattered at its feet

So wear it, bear it, tear it when needed
Because sometimes pride is all that's left when dignity is being auctioned to the highest bidder
At least pride stays loyal—expensive as hell, but loyal