Kidnapped by ideals and ideas of what she was supposed to be
(or she led others to associate with her?)
and chained by the relentless necessity to find meaning,
she wonders about legacy, impact, the traces she drew in the world.
Is she gonna be forgotten? 
Will she fade into oblivion, insignificance, an existence too crowded by men and their overpowering eyes and hands?
How to run away from expectations and prisons 
weights of what she needs to do to care to accomplish 
to look like?
Faiths and fates harassing her own desires,
empty speeches shouted by old liars.
Broken fires.
She is both the sun that burns and the water that soothes,
feeling what comes from within not as a cry for something lacking
but as the flame shaping will itself.
Love, hate, desire and life wanting to come out and everything conquer.
A desert waiting to be filled with her own silhouette,
written in the dirt, in the day in and day out of the path being crafted 
by her gestures, dune after dune
wind blowing with all her own directions.