ego’s funeral
the crown was paper-thin from the start.
but he wore it loud, puffed-up, talking big like cardboard could pass for gold.
when i went to upper management and dropped the weight, it didn’t dent — it folded.
three days later he was gone.
no hate. no rage.
just correction.
and now i see it everywhere.
her coldness, his arrogance — same reflection.
ego so fragile it shatters at the first push of truth.
they think i’m evil for not bowing, for not dimming my flame to keep them comfortable.
but it isn’t evil.
it’s correction.
if you really love the lord, put your ego to the side.
but they don’t.
they never learn.
so the crown folds.
the funeral plays.
and i don’t have to lift a finger.
🐀🔥
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