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she runs.
she scurries through the woods,
tripping over roots, and hollow places in the ground.
she runs.
green moss soft against her feet,
branches brushing against ankles,
hiding her path of escape.
she runs.
not from me,
or you,
from herself.
she runs.
to land far far away,
where promises are kept,
and hearts never broken.
she runs.
dodging the tears flying from her eyes,
ignoring the crystal cries for help.
she runs.
not for me,
or you,
but for herself.
she runs
from herself.
she runs
for herself.
YOU ARE READING
now, we write
Poetrythe words they flood into the hollow spaces of your brain. the words they flood into the hollow spaces of my brain. now, we write.
