Trapdoor.

I don't have their clothes, I don't have their looks,
I don't watch their movies, I don't read their books,
I don't take their photos, I don't smoke their hash,
I don't write their papers, I don't take their cash,
I don't know their lingo, I don't lift their weights,
I don't sing their praises, I don't fill their plates,
I don't take their classes, I don't meet their girls,
I don't make their choices, I don't rule their world.
This is what it feels like. I am powerless.

Square one isn't so sweet after all.

An alteration to an old adage.

There once was a boy who, while lost in a wood, came upon an intersection of many paths. Coincidentally, these paths were all guarded by two men wielding weapons, and were organized into their respective factions by a color-coordinating system not too unlike a color wheel used in an elementary art class. And in unison, these men lowered their weapons, as if to strike.

Their slow advance was very unsettling, but instead of attacking, they instead offered a riddle. Some of them told the truth, while others offered naught but lies. Blue, Red and Yellow were the worst offenders, whereas Green, Purple, and Orange were the denizens of truth. In this case, two wrongs made a right, as the combination of two primary colors resulted in truth and goodness.

In the end, I was a sheep in wolf's clothing.