Some mornings are not meant to be peaceful
they are full of tiny battles, body pains, and aches
coffee grounds spilled in the crack of tile
egg shells crushed against your spine
Some mornings are not meant to be hopeful
the sun’s tyrant gaze slips in through the gaps
the ceiling fan is a switchblade to the ear
alley cats scream their war cries to the world
Some mornings are not meant to be calm
the throbbing skull of a night, water-deprived
echoes inside itself, a reminder that the body
desires equilibrium and safety in this storm
No, some mornings are not meant to be peaceful
yet the day moves on, mixing with the night
the truce made since the dawn of time
where worries unwind, where thought dissolves,
where the world is reminded that dreams live
beyond the body and the body is a dream.