Pretentious, Self-Righteous Essays

I’ve put myself into this straight jacket.
At least I can breathe.
At most, I’m alive.
And somewhere in between is my uncomfortable reality -
Being bound-up, broken
And unsure of how to get out of this position.

In a romantic fantasy,
Someone saves me by undoing the restraints.
On the days that I’m most hopeful,
I am able to envision setting myself free.
Other days I feel creative and when I think really, really carefully,
I try to imagine sitting in a just slightly different enough of a position
That I enjoy the constraints,
Or at least forget that they are there.
But what I actually do is divert my thoughts,
And practice a very disciplined form of avoidance.

If I’m lucky, the clasps will break on their own from time and aging.