Enveloped by the blanket of poverty.
Not warm, comforting, safe … but smothering and itchy
Woven from worry wool.
Weighted and waiting.
Existing not living.
Sharp fibres seep inside your skin
Become a part of you
You are the blanket.
Dormant, your suspended life silent and still.
Not the hush of hope … but deafening despair
Created with despondency and judgement.
Waiting and weighted.
Watching not living.
Silence of sorrow for self,
Self-worth, self-esteem, self-confidence
You are the silence.
Pinpricks of insistent hope
This will pass.
Dormant life awaken
Shrug away the blanket, sing into the silence
I am alive.