Take me away, out to the sea. Then, maybe then, I’ll find me. Hating this process, starting to make me obsess. Perfection is impossible, yet so irresistable. Out of nowhere a ladder appears. Each step symbolizing my fears. One by one I grab hold. Each step I take, breaks the mold. I slip, I fall, that ladder now morphs into a wall. Reaching deep into my heart, I feel a rope, but only one part. Tieing each part together, my hands start to weathe. Will inner strength be enough? Asking for any help is so tough. Each strand coming together now. Throwing the rope, hoping to hook, but how? Trust the process they say. Maybe then I will find my way. Tie the rope around my waiste and pray I’ll be carried to a brand new place.