Please,
Pass me the straws of hay I have dropped along the way.
I cannot create the bale I once envisioned.
There is no structure to build or shape the person in my blueprints.

I’m fumbling with the straws I now have left.
It is not enough.
I can only create a feeble braid,
One that will not hold the shape it makes.

I need help to find the parts that have blown away,
Grasped by the wind out of my hands,
The pieces that fell onto the path,
Ones I walked past and never acknowledged.

The breeze continues to blow,
Ripping at my hair,
Tearing my screams of loss from my mouth,
Disassembling the last of my straw,
Leaving nothing but empty palms.

Holding emptiness.
Knowing only emptiness.