I bite my tongue until it burns with fire,
Sick of the hands that reach past pure desire
Of those who act as if they own the night,
Forcing my quiet stance to sharpen into fight.

You wore your greed just like a polished crown,
Then acted shocked when told to shut it down.
No king can storm in and rewrite the script;
The stage is shared, but your respect has slipped.

You walked in expecting the room and the whole stage,
I kept my voice low, though the fire left the cage.
I’ve seen good people bend for art—never for pride,
So take your sharpened ego, and leave it outside.

I’d rather hit the dirt and keep my conscience neat,
Unlike the modern kings who never earned their seat.
I sweep up what I break, even when I’m wrong,
And never confuse privilege with the place where I belong.

Respect the place, my home from home
The rooms and halls you like to roam.
Side by side we build, side by side we grow,
The best among us never steal the show.