At my door

It comes in without permission

It rushes through the open cracks

Directs itself without a vision


In my kitchen

It sneaks in through my broken window

It invites the napkins to a dance of freedom

Scatters them for a game of limbo


In my backyard

It interrupts my big, brown trees

It undresses their dried, parted branches

Plays around with all their leaves


In my presence

It fights my clothes to depart my figure

It caresses my sweaty skin

Refreshes what the heat triggers


Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741