I went through days and evenings featuring at the clear page looking through the most profound corners of my brain.

Who have I been, what have I seen, what did I learn?

I contemplated all the evenings I have spent outside, constantly I set down to cry and how I took a full breath each day and chose to just go on.

Because what else is there to do?

If I could discover words to legitimize those emotions I have conveyed. I could compose the thickest of books with blasts of feelings from a lost heart.

I could make you see, make you hear, make you feel, at least a tiny fragment of what is out there.


©invisiblelyn, 2020.

(Joycelyn Baah)


2 thoughts on “BROKEN BOTTLES

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