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
Bella Melardi is a poet and author. She attends OCAD University. She writes about social justice issues and mental health.