We are the goldfish in thought swimming around in little bowls. In circles we flow, in darkness we glow but our lives do not grow unless the waves that topple us blow through with such force that we no longer show.
We are the broken. We are the little pieces, fragments of ourselves, the shattered glass that cuts deep until we feign well immersed in our spells.
We are the shells holding oceans and gusts within self, waiting to be dragged into fluid states of deplorable health.
But we must prevail, lifting the veil and setting sail on the course of our lives that thrive off refreshing the stale.
…And we will win in the course of our existence, upon standing up in insistence, bursting out of our bowls in resistance to brush off the bruises of our persistence.
The crushed glass no longer within our frames, the freedom running through our vein will touch upon our lives no longer the same.