My truth is a thorny rose
Living it is my dutiful prose
A self-writing and a self-rewriting
A tale of endless struggle
And of tireless fighting.

It injures me with its ridicule
Then it teases me with its praise
And though it hurts me mercilessly
I keep on loving it all the same
Because I’m in on it
and then I’m out of it
It’s all a part of our little game