My stomach a fist
When entering the door
Of predigested decisions
And bland ideas.
The tiny speckle of hope
And possibility of self expression
keeps me going
In and out.
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Work passion
No plans, no agendas, no reminders
Are needed
When work is curious
And colleagues are stimuli.
Targets are just bites for you
Who anxiously dreams how the whole cake will be
And how the story will end
Monday theft
My stomac bumping,
My breathing getting short
Tell me another Monday is coming.
In its simplicity,
A single day can grab the freedom
of the whole weekend.
Time spent walking
Among flowers and mountains,
The curious stirring for an exotic dish,
The calls with the lived ones
Get immediately sorted as memories,
Once the Monday comes.
