The imperfect of it all makes it hard to breathe.

The imperfect of it all 

makes it hard to breathe.

The tangle of should and 

my own expectations 

leaves me disenchanted and 

trapped in wishes. 

The wishes are light but strong

and form a web that gives the 

illusion of structure

of safety

of purpose.

One wrong turn 

and what I thought was giving 

structure is what I’m now 

desperately trying to get out of.

It’s in my hair, it is stuck to my skin 

and all I want is out. 

The web holds me captive. 

This isn’t what I wanted

but I didn’t make a way

for anything else. 

I want more than this 

transparent framework 

that is holding me hostage 

to what we’ve created.

There’s filament silk

stuck to me

and my arms are flailing trying to 

escape the sticky way its always been.

It tries to 

keep me. 

Keep us –

right where we are. 

I escape the web. 

Now. 

There’s nothing.

There’s no structure, 

no plan, 

no – ‘This is how its going to be’. 

I am not in a web 

but now there’s 

nothing holding me. 

I turn to face what’s next

and see nothing. 

I look for you 

and I see you in the shadows

walking towards me, 

brushing off 

cobwebs. 

 

*Photo by John Camacho