What must it be like, to come from money?
Who might I be
if not for my struggles, my grief?
What might I have become if becoming wasn't do-or-die,
if everything I had was handed to me
or just as easily within my reach?
Where lies the line bifurcating pride
(for my work, my deeds, my livelihood hard-won)
and a cynical judgment
of those who had no say in the matter
regarding the spoon with which they were fetally fed,
born-and-bred?
Why must I feel resentment?
I cannot fault a soul.
I do not want what they have.
They are humans, as I am.
So why the disconnect?
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