"Stop playing with me," the Fledgling begged.
I sat there and wondered for who she had me pegged.
My hands were clean; I had done no wrong.
You blame a poor Dove, and you forget that I am strong.

For must I remind you that a Dove is white, not red.
You'd best remember, before you end up dead.
Poor flamingos can only balance so much.
At this point I could knock you down with a single touch.

You forget, dear Fledgling, that I am the student that beat the teacher.
She was the reigning champion, said no one else could beat her.
You want to play a game?
You'd best pull out now, or you'll be put to shame.

Your passive aggressive glare?
I honestly couldn't care.
Your fake cries of a martyr?
Fledgling, I am not the archer.

Continue frolicking with tears streaming from your eyes.
I won't even notice all your other petty tries.
Keep thinking that you own me, a poor Dove brought you down.
Fledgling, I'm no fowl here.

*I wear the crown.