tangled in a web of self
growing pains and doses of absolution
fear compressing my solar plexus like hands
and earthquakes somewhere below the mantle
i want to grow wings
and bathe in the warmth of sunlight
truth is unfolding in me for the first time
strange to be born again as I realize I was dead
Posted Sep 17, 2022, 6:54 PM UTC · edited
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I love how your syntax is sharp, succinct, yet multi-dimensional and profound—you convey oceans with your words and inspire very vivid, moving imagery.
Thank you.
A story of growth! Your poem captures my attention as I was browsing this subreddit. The first line “tangled in a web of self” draws a picture in my head: someone struggling to get out. It’s the later parts that tie it to growth, tie it to pain which is almost necessary for a moth or a butterfly to grow wings, for rebirth, for a change. I look forward to reading more of your work.
Thanks for the analysis. My question is why isn’t our web of self explained earlier in life? Or is it?
Because it seems universal that the environmental aspect of self is “found” along the way.
I think you are right. The definition of “self” evolves with our experiences and then suddenly you find yourself “tangled” as you explained. Ready to take the step, willingly or unwillingly, ready to be born again.
Good. Well said