They tell her to push towards all the dreams she's hoarded
and to weave threads of hope so that she might wind it into rope
in order to climb out of the pit of grime and tar that she's built around herself.
She took a childhood wound tight with trauma,
and used it to dig a shallow depression in the dirt that only grows deeper,
as her fear keeps her tied her to the quickly fading safety of the mud below her.
She is uncertain of her allies, and so she shields herself from the sun,
from the moon, and the comforting chatter of the rain.
She's afraid of what they have to offer her.
She is blind, yet in her eyes, they are liars.