A Story Stolen from Someone

who knows me, no one
who hears me, no one 
who sees me, no one 
who I am, no one

a woman stands tall and proud on a street corner,
the wind howls at her but she yells louder in return,
the wind is outmatched 

where is your mother now?
she has no home, she has no kids
she has no life
you won’t even hear her cries

she speaks to no one, only to herself
she speaks of no one, only of herself
she speaks for no one, only for herself
to ease the pain of a lifetime of decisions and an eternity of loss

who wants to be with me, no one
who wants to have my kids, no one
who buried my baby, I did 
and you called me a whore for all of it

she stands at that street corner,
singing her sorrows to a deaf world,
lighter and flame cupped in her, 
a vigil for the countless lives that became her own

she was Someone


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