One Day

Reluctance radiates from her

curved spine and trembling limbs.

They all can see her nerves

sitting comfortably

on her shoulders,

whispering sour melodies of inadequacy and failures she may never experience,

but already owns the scars from.

She’s quiet, they say

to each other, but

never ask her why.

If she could, she would

recite the constant aria

that she hears behind her ears.

But her anxiety pins

her mouth shut,

and expects her hold it all in.

She’s distant, they say

to each other, but

never come to her.

Her mind wanders and she wonders

how she can continue.

She cries alone, wishing

someone would somehow know.

But–

One day,

she will be able

to steady herself,

she will roll her shoulders back,

and stand tall.

One day,

she will be able

to unfasten her lips,

and bandage her wounds.

One day,

she will.