Hands shake like leaves fighting the strongest storm.
But even in the calmest evenings, her body still shakes--because she's got no safe keepings.
No items to hold.
Nothing of her to own.

Legs tap against marble masquerade floors, lavish fur draped over--but none of it’s hers.
Heels of glass heals her soul.

She hopes the universe sees her pearls sway, though she is stricken with the poverty curse.
But even with all these dirty rags she plays rich-dress-up, in which she finds something to believe in.

© Junemousonae