Broken Records. A foreign phrase to many. They play the same song plus over and over and over... No end. Mind goes mad. Questions come: "really?" "not enough already?". My silence, nothing but a desperate (futile) attempt to disappear. But I am found under the mud and grime. I am lifted. By unseen faces. Fed by vaguely familiar people who have done this before. I must- no, I vow, to rise up again; to be well so that I may write your stories. Lift you from the mud. Wipe away all that dulls your shiny, sparkly self. I will receive the healing, stronger again. I promise to help lift you, carry you, shout from the plains until your story is finally heard. I may be undone, but I am not done. Do not let yourselves be dismayed. Look up, where help comes frrip

Northern America

Broken Record

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