She ran.
Not to get somewhere,
not to fit into that size two dress
her mother had bought,
but to get away.

She ran so she could stop
feeling so damn much.
Feelings are too teenage angsty.
Even though they’re felt on the daily.
To express the rage, the panic
would be to complain.
Shut up.
She pours her soul onto those concrete blocks.

She ran, and ran, and ran
until that was all she knew.
She had a rabbit’s heart.
Another quick jolt and it would simply
stop.

But feet grow tired,
duties smother and stifle.
She traded the sneakers for heels
the hair tie for the straightener.
She could finally fit into that size 2 dress
that her mother had forced upon her.