The Well

She had a well to draw from,

A well of pain and heartbreak,

A hollow place overflowing

With sadness and full of dark days.

She knew what having nothing

Was all about.

She knew the judgment

And anger and violence

That came with it.

Her land of make-believe

Became her hiding place,

Then it became her reality.

There were no pictures on her walls.

Only a calendar and clock

Adorned the space.

She owned her house, free and clear.

But it didn’t feel like permanent dwelling, yet.

She wasn’t ready to paint

And put holes in the walls,

Just in case her reality

Melted back into the land of make-believe.

There was a cost associated

With putting a mark on this space.

There was a security deposit

For dreaming big and living in the light.

And so, she drew from the well

Every time she hit the stage

So that her hiding place

Would never be her reality again.

Untitled by Oliver Johnson

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