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

All slumbering

You are the silence.


And then.

Pinpricks of insistent hope



This will pass.

Dormant life awaken

Possibilities beckon.

Shrug away the blanket, sing into the silence

I am alive.