The Coat
The Coat What is it about this coat that makes me keep it on? It's wet and cold, yet comfortable. The pockets are full of all the things I've lost through the years. The things in the pockets make the coat heavy. So heavy that it pulls me down, hunches my shoulders, makes my back ache. It anchors me to the bed in the morning, making me so tired. It whispers thoughts of hopelessness in my ears as I try to sleep, tossing and turning for hours. Random rain showers wash over my coat and I. It never keeps me very dry. I've tried washing it, tossing it, leaving it lie. The coat puts me back on and parades me around town, sopping wet and scared what comes next. The weight and the water and the coat make it hard to do the things I love. Can't read; don't have room in my head. Can't draw; my hands don't move that way anymore. Can't hardly write; until one night I could. I'm writing to tell you about my coat and all the things that hide inside it. The hurt, t...