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.