The path drains me of the essence,
leaving in numb silence.
Working for a life I never got,
living as the woman I won’t become,
wishing for treasures I don’t want,
being the parent I never was,
seeing feelings I cannot touch,
losing dreams I haven’t had,
praying in faith I didn’t choose,
holding on to hope—
until its steep end.
Always on the run for nothing,
one step behind the next—
wearing the skin that’s not me.