It's not early You're just tired

i am the burried treasure found centuries after being hidden away under blankets of rubble.

my eyes decorated with rings of purple and blue from a soundless slumber, evidence of a sleep still needed to be had.

my hair dances in knots on the top of my head and my mouth dry with the coating of something bad.

i am art.

its dark like the deep chasm i was laid to rest in long ago

but the sun is peaking crawling scathing my walls

wake up you're home

my arms raise high stretching stiff towards the sky

and i errupt with a yawn like a moan and a roar and suddenly im waking, a silent body no more.

its dark and its cold but im warm to the touch

this impending day is mine to take clutch

you are the trees and the mountains an the stars all combined

if you only just only you'd open your eyes

take hold of the day and see what you may 

light up in the morning, go off like a fuse 

don't waste another day because you decided to hit snooze.

This poem is about: 
Me

Comments

Need to talk?

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