My backyard last night, all covered up in pink. Can’t beat it, can you? Breathe!
sunset
The Walk
Photo by Joao Melo Serrano
The time the room look dingy and you can’t seem to put down the cross you are carrying because it is playing tricks on you. Sit and ponder. Rethink. Take two. Excuse the darkness, the clutter. Don’t despair. Hand over your flag and escape through the open door. Search for a bridge and cross to the other side. Find the gift that surprises you.
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The Tourist
Photo by Joao Melo Serreno
On verse one of the fully developed paragraph, beating at drums of my heated plush traits, I rebelled on my puberty becoming this new guided missile pole. In my adult life, I became him, the perfect persona, the crowd pleaser, the begged for mercy kind of gentile creature, the dazzled narrative latched in a page everyone desired.
He told me I was a bug, the fruit pie microbe mutating into a biscuit but I came to be pure as an ice water in a cooler.
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