Hard...
it is hard for her
to be soft in this world
defined by plastic,
when she was shewn from
stone and plaster...
a smile, that don't mold
to her face.
Hard...
is the word that weighs
on her shoulders,
it burdens her every step,
through a desolate land
of tobacco faces, etched in time,
laughing at the sun,
night time is there time,
they don't need to be seen to be noticed.
Hard...
to comptemplate a future,
when she is lost in the present,
rent is late,
lights off,
no need to see she
have reached rock bottom.
Hard...
is it to
shake
shake
shake
her moneymaker
when she is broken,
and the world keeps
spinning her out of orbit.
Midnight child, reaching for the stars,
coming home empty handed.
Hard...
to ignore the cries of her babes,
on the brink of starvation.
Put on her superwoman cape,
and see what good can you do,
pretend to be Jesus, and stretch one meal into three.
Hard...
she feels,
as she shows the universe the dark side of the moon,
an eternal eclipse
to hide what matters most,
herself.
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Submission Name: Why Is Coffee Bitter?
