(I want)

To walk miles through snow,
untouched tundra,
until my feet are raw and red.

Naked,
with hair that has never been cut
So it may drag too,
Through the cerise paint of sullen steps.

To cloak down my back,
Skin that is distinguished by only blue
and black
and green
red,
whatever color surfacing atop
white.

A woman who 
knows herself and
can accept it.
Love it.
Cherish it,
Find it to be 
enough. 

To not be alone
even when seldom.

forever wandering,
in search,
of a home

which does not exist.
Will never exist.
Has never.
For if she found it,
it would be cast aflame.
For warmth.
As the warmth of survival
is the only one absent of
betrayal. 

A knowing and yearning
for something she had owned.
Another’s.

Her humiliation, 
a ballad. 
With anger that cannot be reached
or subdued
But by death.

An idea,
a promise.
A goal, 
her home.
Buried in the snow,

What I want;
Peace.