The things we ask ourselves 

I am up to my ears in debt,

To a country that did not make me,
Only molded me into something,
That does not really fit in any one place,
For too long,

The bottoms of my feet burn,
For bare ground and distant beaches,
And mountains that are good at keeping secrets,

I do not know how,
To chip away at my edges,
Make myself smaller or easier to swallow,

I only know how to smile through sadness,
Detach myself from the sorrows of the world,
Because nowadays I just can’t bear it.

Maybe I am more selfish now,
For preferring to hide behind false altruism,
Instead of taking action,

I walk the world in a war torn fashion,
These wasted passions,
Give me everything, yet lead me nowhere.

I used to envy birds,
That flew wherever the wind took them,
But now I know how to the follow the wind,
Better than I know the inside of my own heart.

Why must I wander, I wonder?

A useless question, with the best intentions.
I am just another young woman condemning herself to a beautiful, solemn, solitude.

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