Rapunzel, Rapunzel, clean up your golden hair,
For in the way is thy golden stair.
I work and I clean and I just want a rest,
Maybe a hair cut would be for the best.
A small amount, a trim and a snip,
Please my dear, I constantly trip.
For your locks are beautiful and golden and fair,
Even with a cut, still your beauty no one can compare.

I wish I knew...
Knew what to do next.
The only thing I want to do is cry.
Stuck in the deepest wet mud like a serpent shedding its own skin and only waiting to see what's next.
I'm lost, but my philosophy is, all explorers get lost, don't they?
With constant transformations and changes, I struggle to adapt to my own lifestyle.
It all happens so fast, in the blink of an eye, without slow motion effects.
Anticipated, deprecated, impatient.
Waiting in pain, like a poisonous snake bite eating you up inside.
Waiting for the venom to be ****** out.
Consuming to every part of my being, like being stuck in a prison is underestimated.
This is worse...
This is skin prickling and soul shackling like shapes are out of order and the world is inside out.

I felt happiness, once.
When I got out and got some help.
Loved, supported, understood, not judged, accepted.
I was there for two weeks.
The depressing thoughts kept hitting me; ****, I still need to go back home.
I HATE IT THERE
THE ANXIETY, NERVES, AND ANGER CAME IN.

I'm never happy when I'm here.
I'm stuck in a spiraling tower like a dark Rapunzel cut her hair and had no way down.
Optimistic, faith, positive, I still find a way to keep grounding, yet, I'm the hero of my own story.
The only way out is through me, I need to make the change and get out ASAP.
YET, external situations have me trapped, it's out of my control.
I have no choice but to wait, no matter how hard I try to make things happen, it's just not happening.
I am my own hero, I fight my own battles, and win them every time, but somehow I can't win this one.
It requires a sense of patience and stagnancy that I cannot handle or tolerate.

Short-term fixes are my only solutions but that's left me broke and caged in more.
Zero impulse control, I can't help it.
I want out, I need my financial freedom.
I can't do this anymore.
Contradicted, rehabilitated, bored, and lack of full freedom.

Exit Tchaikovsky into the smoking mirror,
humid masks of the night servants
stalking down the water-walk.

Ash falls from a high tongue
all across the face of the moon embassy
like a bony comb through snow's hair.

Fade to brass: the cars sneer across the street,
interrupting blonde melodies held rapt
in plastic by cigarette Rapunzels.

I sit by the flower dress.
Bare legs slip across the old eye trellis
that masses by the death-green park,

muffling the memories that break free
from the black seance. I'm a braid of regret.
A bird is dead on the cement.

Not the window where Rapunzel longed,
for the dashing young man to set her free.
But the aperture through which
a stupendous woman saw the boundless -         world.
The sight which made her realize that she can dream and attain the unfathomable.
The window of opportunity and freedom.
But is the world outside same
as the one the window presented?
Will she be able to breath as freely as now? Once outside will she have to yearn
for 'a room of her own'?
Will the man have a conscious
enough to perceive that
she can set herself free if she wants?
Will the other Rapunzels ,
who still wait for their rescuers,
pull her back in and shut her casement ?
Will the sparrows that came by chirping
on her windowsill be replaced by vultures ? Let what may the answer be, it is certain,
she who has the deep desire in her
to achieve what she dreamt of, will achieve it. She will crack open the window,
break out by herself,
and will soar above all vultures
and will breath happy and independent.