Weeding Out

Imperative for growth to flourish appropriately,

It’s a sinking feeling when the time arrives,

And one we rarely want to admit to, because normalcy is comfortable.

Sometimes change masks itself as unknown, but we know.

One gut-wrenching pull at a time convinces us of its necessity, and the digging continues.

Beauty is stifled by its surroundings, however, she clings to what slowly kills her.

The world is full of what should be if we lean in: find grounding and settle.

Surely the weeding ends,

And the tools go back to the shelf.

To Worship Him

imagine with me, if you will
red dirt dusted
upon his boots,
the chair otherworldly
a product of sturdy,
lean legs crossed
relaxed.
smokey eyes intent on
the crown of the moon
and sun before him
a sigh,
twilight.
aware of every shift, made upon his domain,
cheekbones defined
as he contemplates
his tomorrow.
I see him,
and all I need is to
worship him.