Calloused hands and dirty heels,

Chipping nails, my hair unclean.

This is how my journey feels.


Her feet bare,

A flower crown upon her hair.

Gypsy soul, she moves,

The crowd from still to stir.


Sheets a mess and I can’t sleep,

Empty notes beside by my bed.

This is how my journey feels.


Her voice hushed,

Their screams rushed.

Gypsy soul, she moves,

The crowd from still to stir.


Results are scarce,

My friends they ask but they don’t see.

This is how my journey feels.


Her words, they climb,

The crowd is still but comes to find,

This is how her journey felt.

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