my toes-a-tippy are solely devoted to ballerina pointé, and deeper looks into the donut display.

yet lately, my colleagues friends and i find ourselves begrudgingly walking with backs more upright,

eggshells beneath our creeping feet,

treading carefully on a landmined laced tightrope.

shifting, dark eyes have suddenly sprouted from dusty corners.

years of honesty, dedication, and love are now expected to take backseats to bottom lines.

i wasn’t schooled in the game of watch your back, and i don’t fancy an education now.

call me naïve. call me green. i can fashion a fabulous frock with both.

but i will not run in the race of the rats.