"Girl, Untitled."

Disproportionate to your frame,
you quiver with the weight
of the yoke you bear.
You are so small.
Why are you struggling,
attempting the impossible?
Oh, you've caught a chill.
I would lend you my coat,
but this is not bone deep.
Why are you screaming?!
Smoke ingested,
Moth infested,
Truth rejected.
Floating away...soft laughter...
What the hell are you doing?
Where the hell are you?
Who the hell are you?
Since you don't know,
They will tell you.
As they slap the label
across your parched lips,
you don't even care.
At least you have a
Name.

Christina Sawyer (c) 2012