(poem)

I’ll step on those rakes again and again,
Till blood is drawn from my split skin.
And even then, still bleeding, torn,
I’ll walk the path where pain is born.

If only I feared a little less,
I’d find new roads through this distress.
But shaped by rules they drilled in me,
I do what earns a penalty.

I’m scared they’ll think I’m dumb, a fool —
So I play quiet, soft and cool.
A shadow girl no one can find,
And maybe that’s the fear I mind.

I’m led by footprints left by me,
And in their echo — there walks he.