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And the child born on the Sabbath day / is bonny and blithe, good and gay.
I was born on a gloomy Sunday morning in Oakland, California.
you’d think with the grace of being born on a sunday, that the scaries that plague that sacred day would temper themselves for me.
the anticipation of a new week keeps me awake / bright-eyed / bushy-tailed / anxious / restless / intuitive about what I need to start / and god forbid / I finish / living for the weekend / four-day work weeks are optimal / but y’all not ready for that war.
City of Writers: muses live here
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