River Mud

I don't really feel like writing today.

I'd rather be naked on the ground,

head-to-toe exposed,

so I could really think

and hear the pines rustle.

I would bury my sadness in a funeral mound

of dirt and river mud.

I would press grasses into the soft pile

so it looks like a bump in the earth.

Then, I would rise

and walk away.

This poem is about: 
Me
Our world

Comments

Need to talk?

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