Some mornings,
you don’t rise with the sun.
You rise with the ache.
With the list.
With the should’ve, the could’ve,
the world in your chest.
But still—
you reach for color.
A brush. A pencil. A page.
Not to fix yourself.
But to find yourself.
Again.
In the hush before the world asks who you are,
you answer in strokes, not sentences.
You shade in peace.
You sketch your prayers.
You let your breath find its shape
in violet, ochre, and rose.
This, too, is devotion.
Not always incense and stillness—
sometimes, it’s messy beauty
and sacred swatching
at the kitchen table.
You don’t need a monastery
to become whole.
You just need a moment
to remember:
you are the altar.
And your art is the offering.
- (c) jaha Knight, 2025
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