it is only

the breaking of the dawn

his body

this fraught will of iron feathers

my heart.

it is not the 

starving multitudes or the end of the light we call life.

it is only.

a job.

an occupation.

a paycheck.

it 

is

not

who i am.

don't hate on the mornings

those i criticizejudge

exhibit weaknesses i despise in myself.

this pithy insecurity is never

never

worth it.

if i would realize the mornings are worth my time

my sacrifice

for they never disappoint

i would see the beauty in the tones of our skin.

forever have i languished in this tropic of complainsville

and let my mind dwindle on the scores of rust eves

when i waste one more hour on the computer

and ignore entirely the skies begging me to sleep.

for tomorrow's morning glow beckons

me to join.

to see.

be

live

fresh again to start the day with gray

then flamingo pink and finally brilliant orangered

to blast away all that doesn't matter

like the gavel and the spitfire.

participate

in the awe

of morning.

february

sometimes

when you feel just

blah

you remember the way you felt when you tossed the covers aside that morning.

and that feels good.

it feels better.

i want to live the

fresh

zest

sustenance 

each blah,

i want to savor the sunshine and the breeze and a friend to talk to who is listening.

i want to draw with chalk on the sidewalk for no reason and take my time.  i want to love what i do and who i have become and accept the things people compliment me on.

i want to work so hard on myself that i never stop

but stop

to stop

and see

this moment.

hope

opportunities,

grace.

pull back those covers, there is so much more.