cotton sheets

i hide under my sheets thinking they would protect me.
my armor of cotton but it doesn't stop anything

it doesn't stop the screams or the tears
that wake me in my nightmares

the shivering cold that permeates through
as if a winter wind blows through an open window

it will not protect me from a thief
wanting to attack me in the middle of the night

but like a young fool in love,
i wrap myself in it

i have false hopes of its strength
promised to me by fancy salesmen

perhaps i have been fooled by the emperor's tailors
while looking for a piece of magic that doesn't exist

maybe i should let go of these old sheets,
maybe i should run to the first store i see and buy new ones

but these sheets have so much past
does a child get rid of its baby blanket as it ages?

my mother packed mine in a box in the attic.
i rarely see it anymore.