Old Mother Hubbard’s Girl

She was born on a Monday
A shopping day
When the handful of coins were tossed down to the lowly
To scrabble in the dirt for
To debase and self loathe for
And her Mother Hubbard tried
But the cupboards stayed bare
And the black and white print on grey
Bought for the price of a bag of grain
Told the world of her mother’s ruin
And evil
For being
Just being
But she grew and she knew
And the love held her strong
Gave her wings
And a need to be heard
The print kept its printing
Its lies and its bile
She grew and she knew and she shared
But voices like hers
Have to shout from the back
And rarely if ever do they count
So she saves up her stories
For old Mother Hubbard
And old Mother Hubbard saves hers
For the days when they’ll meet
When those stories are shared
And those burdens are halved
Being heard saves her life
Every time she is, it does

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