You cast your pain on outer walls,
Where fate or others take those falls.
You say, “It’s hard,” or “Isn’t fair,”
As you relinquish your own care.

 

So valuable, that victim’s crown—
It lifts you up yet holds you down.
You trade your power for sympathy,
Pretending you have integrity.

 

The rape was real, her fear was raw,
But did not see that she was flawed.
No lifelong tale of “done to me”—
She chose her strength in agency.

 

You wear your wounds like moral proof,
To judge what you think so uncouth.
They hurt you, then you hurt them back,

“They so deserve my back attack.”

 

So valuable, that victim’s crown—
It lifts you up yet holds you down.
You trade your power for sympathy,
And call that loss integrity.

 

You said “I had to,” a liar’s game,
You bind yourself, then shift the blame.
In saying “should,” you feel controlled,
“I am the victim,” please be enrolled.

 

We prize the stance that makes us right,

Our right feels like a shield in fight.

But hiding there, we pay a price—

We sell our peace for moral spice.

 

So valuable, that victim’s crown—
It lifts you up yet holds you down.
You trade your power for sympathy,
And call that loss integrity.

 

The lens of lack, the fear of shame,

Keeps us locked in a blame-filled game.

We scan for slights, ready to brawl,

While claiming we have no role at all.

 

But what if worth was ours all along,

No need for guilt, no need to feel wrong?

What if we faced the world unarmed—

Still whole, with no need for alarm?

 

So valuable, that victim’s crown—
It lifts you up yet holds you down.
You trade your power for sympathy,
And call that loss integrity.