Poetry in Starbucks - a collection of visible words and not-quite tangible thoughts

Hoping out of bed and thinking about one thing: gifts that unite. From Africa to Africa: gifts from your favorite places. Christmas blend: gifts, but with a purpose. As if the purpose of giving wasn't purpose enough. Shade grown: like the confusion and bitterness that recently started accumulating near the tree in the backyard and also noticeable in parts of my heart.
What you said was true: I do worry too much. I wear worry on my heart and on my sleeve. I hand it out like candy at a Fourth of July parade. It's the stone I'm holding onto; the deathgrip that doesn't want to let go.