Monday

If it’s not upbeat, it’s downbeat, or somewhere in between.

Indeed, to speak religion is risqué, and to speak love

conjures images; some pleasant, while others register pain.

Where is this medium, where joy isn’t laughed at, and

strain isn’t overbearing? I thought of flowery words, but

too low to reach, walking through mental regions.

Maybe jasmine, ivory, and aqua are pretty words, from

which beauty appears.

Where to find a sunflower, an apricot dove, even a stenciled

daffodil? I ask, somewhat uninterested, marching through

a process, where jaguars move in stealth, and wildcats

appear from within.

Some specialize in art, and such kindness, a genuine hello.

I’m often there, in social khaki, trekking through scrapes

and bruises. It’s rewarding in its own sense. One gets closer

to reflection, as opposed to screaming at a mirror.

I’m new

to life this week, a tad bit cynical, musing personalities,

aware to admit struggle.