I'm a crumb up under a rug
with these city wide hairs
stretched over above.
pillows of dust
to smother my lust
and my trust for the ground
until violently interrupted
with the silently,
"don't **** with"
lastly, and last to be stuck with
shot down by the flock,
to a pile of duckshit.
my own. where i come from,
I've grown.
Though not for all to be known,
but through my existence its shown
