Because if I fail, no one knows me here

She said as she explained her urge to leave this soil filled with our ancestors

The commodified ones

It would probably hurt less too 

Her leaving 

Wherever she went would hurt less than here 

The moans under her feet would no longer sound familiar 

The branches on the trees wouldn’t sting 

Not even to look at 

And maybe 

Pinkish pale skin could elicit more than rage