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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A new kind of theft

I am trampled on snow,

You take a piece of me wherever you go.

A fragment dragged from the sole of your shoe,

My shape changed, no longer new.

A smooth surface with a gaping hole,

I wear your imprint like a scar.

Unable to fill the spot where you left,

A piece is gone, a new kind of theft.