There are some poems that can only be triggered by your past. This is one of them:

I have been a victim too…
Not in the traditional sense of the word
Some would even say that my kind of victim-hood
Is a privilege of the well-off
Exercising the rights offered to them through the toil of others
They demand off life the duty to pay their dues

In that sense I have been a victim, yes
From the walls of my bedrooms
In quiet corners of a raped land
I have sought retribution
Off a soil that owes me nothing.
For a people that see crimson
Bloodthirsty, scarred, desperate, aroused
My victim-hood has been a lie masquerading as the truth


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