Sometimes you have to run

So Run
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Her breath surfaces in her ears,
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Kicking to be free of traditions’ womb.
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Feet, pound the cobblestones firmly into the street,
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As she runs.
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She roots her hand in her hair,
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And yanks the respective braid from it’s order,
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Like one would yank the drain from a full tub.
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Her name echoing through the silk morning air,
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Is a wrecking ball finding the hip of an old building.
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She runs faster,
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Feeling the pain in her own side,
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As though the wrecking ball is lodged there.
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Sleeping homes sit quietly,
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Watching her, the rabbit in white,
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Scatter from the Mr. McGregor’s of the world,
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While bathed in a dress,
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Much like Princess Diana’s,
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When the flashing smiles and camera’s of the world,
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Witnessed her “I do”.
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So gowned,
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And so broken,
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She fights.
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To flee.
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To breathe.

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