She is buried under the debt she feels upon her shoulder. The debt that must be paid. Debt of being alive and privileged. Debt that forces her to sleep at 10 and wake up at 6 in the morning. Debt she pays night and day, by burying herself in books as the misfortune children play. She no longer feels the freedom to run in the rain, to get her hands in the mud. She is born wit expectations. To be successful. To live a purposeful life. So she must become a doctor and not a dancer. But she has forgotten herself as she pays the debt. She no longer wishes for thunder storms. Stars no longer guide her path. Butterflies have become just another insect to her. She has put all her yearbooks far away. she is haunted by the nightmares of her beautiful