I’m allowed to make love with my bedsheets

The mattress the earth

The outline of my body the horizon line

That bleeds into my fleshy sky

Maybe it’s the bed roots

That cut into my skin

Or maybe it’s the world

Telling me I have to get up

But when you’re sick

Oh when you’re sick

Sometimes the bed

Is what you need

Don’t let the world tell you

You can’t rest

Because resting is being human

These words hold onto me

Fish hooks in my skin

But I stay in bed

Because it’s what I need

And even if I need a little more rest

Because I’m tired a lot of the time

That doesn’t make me less worthy

Even if things take more time

Bella Melardi (she/they) is a poet and writer. She lives in Toronto Ontario. She attends OCADU. She writes about the political and personal.

Instagram: @poetluvs