There is nothing quite like the morning dew.
Shimmering in the budding sunlight,
refracting light into a prism of splendor.
Present at the world's rebirth; lost in the hours to come.
Yet always emerging anew.
For this beauty is not one of mourning;
it is just simply the morning dew.

a fog descends, encroaching the mind
wisps lost into the haze: minimal visibility ensured
a strength without direction, meandering through forest
ice encrusts logic; hail bombards reason
i am left

solely with agony
bliss ignorance into incompetence
sheeps alone in a storm
awaiting some dog to provide direction
i ponder: why wait for consensus
if no-one cares to agree and ascend

head hung low in the shower after a day without power,
hot streams of water meld with tears,
one cleansing, the other demoralizing, but combined are indiscernible.

fear is to abstract to express the response to the trials of the day,
clumped into the categories of emotions taught in the horrendous brick,
the trauma of being unknown, unloved, ignored and ridiculed is inexplicable.

mortification is more accurate,
mortified of being late,
mispeaking,
failing,
derailing.

what happens when one overflows?
succumbs to express feeling, express humanity?
bursting from pent-up anxiety?
mockery, for being weak, for being honest.

So I trudge day after day,
Say words I don’t mean,
Put on the facade of happiness,
Do my best to please, but always just annoying
Yet no matter what I do,
The resolution is the same,
Returning to the wretched shower.