breaking the mundane

may the rise and fall hum you to sleep

'The Gifts of Imperfection' Brené Brown

At first, I despised you even fought you I compartmentalized keeping seperate this idea that you were not a part of me A heavy, dark sometimes sickening thud of a thing residing in my stomach and radiating through my chest until my body was overtaken and no light would enter the lense At one point of becoming particularly swallowed whole I began to accept this dark brooding part of myself and upon this conclusion little slivers of light bit through blackness ravaging the gloom, plate clean Because, in fact, light is hungry too

and a laughing tree

of this slow and steady climb

With September comes the smell of freshly sharpened pencils and worn book bindings to diligently cling to. The falling leaves, a promise of erudition to spring forth.

mundane