8 Minutes

It was I who asked for it.
It was I who wanted it.
It’s been me all along.
The one who didn’t know what she wanted.
The one who’ll do right
Because she doesn’t know anything else
But to do what’s right
Or what she thinks is
Because she knows nothing else
Not what she wants
Not what she needs
Not who, why, and how she needs what.
And for the hundredth time
She’ll write in verses
Stolen from the hours
She’s paid for something else
Asking for justice
Asking for what she doesn’t know.
Why not
How come.

And she’ll never know what she wants.
Not until she loses it perhaps.
Not until it’s too late.
Not until she knows
It’s never coming back.


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