sweater
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My depression is like a sweater.
Sometimes too big of my problems.
But sometimes too tight, where
I find myself grasping for air.
No one else can wear it,
even if they ask to borrow it.
This sweater of mine is ready for the breezing weather
Wraps around me, not light like a feather
Golden ball of fire hides behind the fluff
Oh, what a wonderful season full of stuff
apples, leaves, candy
A blanket of comfort
hanging in the closet.
my body longs
for the warmth it brings
morning after morning.
Ordinary in every way,
torn in all the right places.
I slip it over my head
I was the sweater you put on after Summer,
when the weather started to get colder.
You were the voice I tuned on my car stereo,
every night when I left home.
