she sings herself a lullaby at night,
weaving herself a thousand dreams.
she’s going to leave this place,
repeated over and over
-like a prayer on her chapped winter lips,
made to long dead gods.

she dreams at night that she is the sun,
and she holds her lover’s cold face in her hands,
pale eyes and a soft pale light tickling her cheeks.

she dreams that she is among the stars,
free from the evils that paralyzed her,
the hands that pulled her away from her dance;
beside the river and under the stars,
walking the path where stars the floated along a deep blue road.

among the stars,
where the world pulls her closer and closer
where every night becomes worthy
-every nights she slept with ink stained hands,
weary eyes,
tired hands that can barely pull her knotted hair away,
and frayed pajamas.
every night she wondered if the world wasn’t for her.

now she sleeps in her bed,
under a canopy of far away fairy lights,
in the milky moonlight
she whispers to herself another prayer
-the stars are watching over me.