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, 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 I think really, really carefully,
Trying to imagine sitting in just slightly different enough of a position
That I can 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.