Beloved backwash of society
I pirouette poised, skin indented of stones
I vibrate auspiciously on the shit-talker’s uvula
Scrapping the yard for a morsel of hope
Constructive critique, this is my bathwater
Little lashings of the onlookers, my treasured bread and butter
Think your condemnation wily pebble in my shoe?
Your high horses will buckle
At the sight of my dawn’s kingdom.