When everyone she loves most is in bed fast asleep, She silently opens the door and walks softly down her steps Until she reaches the end of the concrete. She breathes in, And it's crisp and clean As it fills her lungs.
She looks straight ahead, At the home that's been built out of her bones she had to put back in place and the hair she lost when she grew those babies inside of her, and the blood she drained out of her veins to sign the paper that suggested there was another way of life Somewhere deep inside the center of her journey to her earth. To the core. When she had already signed 30 other contracts, Swam across 30 oceans and sank every boat. Flew over deserts, dropping petals into the sand so she could find her way back but they never seemed to stick around. Walked across the empty highways always hoping to run into real life but instead found sticks and stones, and broken bones.
And she weeps. Into her hands.
Because this was never supposed to be hers, but it turns out that no one ever knew what they were talking about,