Wet hair, dry lips and bare face 

She starts to walk down the dirt path. 

With blank face, her mind wanders 

What if this never ends? 

Like a vicious cycle in an endless nightmare. 


Arms full, hands heavy with brown bags 

She types, letting the words take her. 

With envy and heartache diluting her cup 

She embraces the cold winds. 

Whispering echoes of forgotten woes. 


As she leaves for another day 

Her knees unprotected, she gives in 

To the feeling of drowning. 

She asks herself, why did she not learn how to swim? 


– Lala B.



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