Tangled In Myself

Much of the time, when I'm stuck, the thing I'm stuck in is me.

I'm starting to suspect that's all there is for me to do this time around; just get untangled from myself.

I'm so poked through with vines, though; all snarled up with things people dropped and cried about and forgot and random feathers and whiskers and all kinds of wrappers and caps, coated in mud.

How will I ever do it? There's no way to follow the thread of me.

I just don't think I can.

Unless - if I have all the time.

If it's not a race, if I can work on it forever, then - maybe.

If I have all the time I could find a spot where I am free and let it weigh against the inside of my hand and shift it to my fingertips and slide it along. I could feel its links; also a kind of snarl but strong and calm and regular. It could almost feel like art or swimming. Like dancing slowly.

Then die, dip my hands in water, sip something through a straw, stare out at the trees with you, and back to my ensnarement. Again, and again.

I hope that's how it is, so I can feel more calm.

I hope whatever makes you feel more calm inside the tangle of your self

is also what it is.

I hope, in time, I come less caught

up, and that as I unravel from myself I can come

more and more interwoven

with you.