despite
the dreariness
hovering heavily
the birds sing
of better times
to come.

this is a lie
i tell myself
as morning dawns
and i seek a spark
to motivate away
from cozy ideation.

liquefied in
a blanket cocoon
yet never emerging
as anything except
lesser than what
i was yesterday
even farther from
who i long to be.

some mornings
i am the sparrow
filled with hope
most mornings
i am the mockingbird
faking it so no one
sees me failing.