This doesn’t have
A lot of metaphor, or simile,
Or writing techniques, or style,
Or rhyming structure, or metre;
To be honest it’s barely a poem,
and that’s fine because I’m barely
a poet.
To be honest, I’m a mess.
Mental health in decline,
Pretending to be fine,
Being confined,
Just reclined
On this sofa.
Where the cushions, the blanket, the duvet, the laundry, and emotions accumulate and
lie across my chest like a
heavy
warm
comfortable
something.
© Emilie C. Black, Apr 2020