A little ball of hope, as big as a fingernail, exploded as she saw that some other people read about the real her and didn't leave.
A little ball of hope, as big as a fingernail, distinguished because there was nobody to smile at, to confirm with, their was nobody for her to tell.
And then a little ball of hope, as big as a fingernail, remained a little ball of hope, because when she was the only one who read her work it was ok, so now that's it's not it's okay now. At least she's no longer alone.
And A little ball of hope, as big as a fingernail, it will remain.
YOU ARE READING
Feelings
PoetryThis is for me, a diary with no information, feelings for people to read or not, it might rhythm I'm not sure, but I know it's real.
