Little Man

Pushed of
My proverbial high horse
Unto the hard ground
Of reality,
Where I should now walk
Instead of ride.
On my shoulders,
Sits a little man
Who laughs
Every time I trip and fall,
Mocking me,
Taunting me
To go on.

I should hate this little man,
The way his lips twist
Into a wicked smile.
I should loathe
The fact that he won't go away,
But I can't hate
Nor can I loathe
This little man,
For without him,
I would be lying
Where I was pushed off
My proverbial high horse.