A Broken Heart
A Broken Heart I wake before the sun remembers its duty, With plans folded neatly inside my chest, Skills sharpened like tools in a worker’s box, Yet no door waits for my knock. My hands know labour, My mind knows creation, I have learned, unlearned, relearned— Still, opportunity walks past me As though I am invisible air. Three months stretch like dry seasons, Days counting themselves in silence, Bills whisper louder than prayers, And hope now negotiates with doubt. They say work hard, I did. They say be patient, I am. But patience grows heavy When effort bears no harvest. I am not lazy— Only stranded. Not unskilled— Only unseen. Standing at life’s marketplace With value nobody seems ready to buy. Each rejection writes its name Across my confidence, Until even mirrors begin to ask If diligence is enough. Yet somewhere beneath this tired heart Innovation still breathes— Bruised, yes, But refusing burial. Because I know storms do not ask permission Before they pass, And even...