How Do I Change This?


I tell the stories of mud and rain,
the broken branches and sharp stones,
a lonely journey through dark woods,
damp caves and sharp secrets buried.
Watch your step, life is treacherous.

Others tell stories of sun and wind,
strong magic skies and cheerful flowers,
daring love greatly, warriors rising,
a sisterhood to conquer the fear.
Walk boldly, life is an adventure.

I weigh their stories against my own,
this shrunken head hung on a belt,
that blazoned shield painted with blood,
a challenge too great for one soul.
I don’t recognize myself in them.

I write my story with one finger,
crooked lines drawn in wet sand,
small words the edge of a vast ocean,
tides rising and falling with the moon.
Read quickly, before I am erased.


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