Mondays Are Not Meant For Miseries

I walked into new rooms and realised my love for gardens , hiding under verdant bushes and seeking my mates hiding from me and how I always ended up seeking for the right people and hiding in the right space meant for me , making a familiar move with an innocent face , belonging to me . And a thunder clap of 5 years would push me into the firy teenage and you would want to hear about how I now seek the wrong people and hide in the wrong spaces , No . Let stories be stories especially the ones which involve misery let them be narrated on Friday evenings and not Mondays  , so that just like a fresh flop movie we watch it once to never watch it ever again for the sake of not repeating a mistake . Let the eulogies , epics , morals and inspirations be spoken as a stand up poetry , I say stand up poetry so just like stand up comedy you subscribe to it in the lifetube so let these be preserved for Monday mornings so that just like a block buster movie we wait for the house to get empty nd then watch it realising that our wait was worth and how wonderful the plot was . Now let us for a minute shut our eyes deeply trying to visualise a stranger who crossed paths with us and we end up not remembering the face but rather remembering the judgement we made , how at the snap of a finger we created a glass wall against an enemy that might snatch the bag , stab in the stomach push from the back or pull from the front . So I stare at this passerby enemy who is my landscape enemy I say landscape because hey , landscape was the only thing I could draw without knowledge of drawing nd enemy was all I could draw without the Knowledge of my stranger as stranger and no enemy . So he comes near me nd then nearer nd then suddenly he says "Madam your zip is open " and highly ashamed, sweating and regretting I check my pants and he comes near again bring a hand near my back toooooooo , (slowly amazement)  pat my back and say , I was taking about your bag , you might lose your money like that. And still , still carrying the back of miserable Monday and not accepting the merit of this stranger I say , (stammering ) wwwwhy wwwere you sssstaring at my bag like that and he answers because maybe if I look into your eyes you'd call it staring and maybe you'd think that I'll snatch the bag , stab in the stomach push from the back or pull from the front andddd it's Monday morning and last night I heard a stand up poetry saying Mondays are not meant for miseries   .