she found the butt of an old cigarette
dusted it off, lit it up with some matches
she smoked it down, down to the filter
relief and grief, what an odd combination
she wore her clothes brown as a result of her surroundings
brown like her home, brown like her blanket
she dreams of the day she meets her prince charming
or any prince, really, that can see past the fact
that she smells like a ripe dumpster.
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