Monday 6/27/16


The tombs are empty


Writing doesn’t have to be done in the dark.

I feel bad for Mondays

I feel sorry for them

They’d probably hate that I pity them

If they had a chance

But the abuse penetrates them constant

Every flaw, mistake, and filth

Gets tossed on them.

The reason:

Because you are you

They say.

I’d imagine Monday

Has a hard time loving itself

But I suppose it is possible

That or it becomes what they say it is

Pompous and proud

Or lowly and depressed

Feeling unlovable

But perhaps Monday does love itself

I just find it hard to believe

Dear Monday,

Do you love yourself?

If so,

Tell me how

Then perhaps I can learn to love you too



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