Weighted.
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.
Waiting.
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
All slumbering
You are the silence.
And then.
Pinpricks of insistent hope
Prod
Poke
This will pass.
Dormant life awaken
Possibilities beckon.
Shrug away the blanket, sing into the silence
I am alive.
