She turned up
Went though the grind
Pushed out, bent over knelt down
Scraped scrounged lay prone
Her fate lines were etched in stone
Indelible, Irrevocable, non-negotiable
No matter her grinding away
No matter her scratching away.
Broken fingernails. Exhausted.
Yet every original etching replaced
With cruelty and certainty
By a relentless universe
No matter her bargaining chips
Preciously accumulated. Hard won.
Secretly hoarded, zealously guarded
Scattered now. Dust in the wind.
No matter her heartfelt desires and manifestations.
Now jaded, denied. Turned into barren fruitless trees.
Pre-ordained it seems
Pre-determined – Not by her choice
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