Showering in creeks, eating stolen carrots and potatoes we were poor, but we were happy. Fools, destitute, introverted, lonely. Words were used to describe us but we cared not for the likes of a greater world, we valued the small things, took enjoyment of a long forgotten life known only in books and songs.
                         We would surely break ourselves, they said, come wandering home with ribs poking    
                         through skin, sunken eyes, callouses and blisters.
                             Nothing to show for it.
Remember the lives we chose for ourselves; the magic we found lost in the woods, in alleys, hiding beneath the cushions of torn couches.
                 The inkling of love for each other and love for ourselves,
    Springing forth to scorch our throats with every drag
                                      Smooth our skin with every hand covered with earth
                                                  With every lungful of air
                                                            we were the ones who got away