Every night she would lie in bed and finger the stars
Pressing her rough cherry lips to the moon.
Sometimes it seemed as though
Everything was attacking her.
The expectations of the world pressed down
With coarse intolerant hands.
But nights,
Nights seemed different.
Her eyes would bathe in the sadness of the moon
And her heart wouldn't be attacked.
Sometimes
If she urged her mind into the sublime
She could feel small.
Just as she had always dreamed.