The first shell broke when I was nine. Broke into two halves. One looked like my mother, the other, my father. The second shell broke when I thought I fled the nest. I left home. I wasn't an eagle, I didn't even have flight feathers. The third shell broke into a thousand confetti pieces, as I lay in a rat's nest shaking.
Like Rob says, this feels like a very personal poem. It feels so honest and vulnerable making me feel very attached to this poem. I love the idea of breaking shells you use in this poem.
Wonderful storytelling in your own Brimblings! I love reading between your lines. Definitely one of your best for me. Seems personal
Thanks mate
Like Rob says, this feels like a very personal poem. It feels so honest and vulnerable making me feel very attached to this poem. I love the idea of breaking shells you use in this poem.
Thank you