Sweater of a Soul

Somehow, the world looks bluer
since you hung my limp sweater of a soul
on those red hooks behind the door.
What right do you have to do nothing?
I can’t describe to you how
I am fed by the trees,
how I drink from the oceans,
how my best friends are dogs.
How this morning,
that ghoul called normality
woke me up and threatened,
“How dare you sing of freedom dreams
when others’ hearts were embroidered on your own,
when you were sewn to be worn
and keep your lovers warm.”