who she wants to be

she brings
her sorrow with her.
yesterday.
a year ago,
ten years
or more, perhaps
at birth
it started. this
anger, this
sadness
with which she
holds the world
responsible.
it's a cold
wet sweater
across her shoulders.
her feet,
bogged down
in what will
never be.
you want to take
her hand
and show
her where the fire
is, but
she's gone, she's
too far away
from being who she
wants to be.