Self Imposed Chains

She had bought into the dream captivated by the idea of wealth Given herself no mercy, strapped on those pantyhose like holsters. Envious of the women she saw on lunch hour who had on light dresses Manifesting in no way toward her soul self, enslaved in an office Became a babbling computer, spewing out figures, numbers, math. Hope and optimism gone, her true essence she had begun to deny. She became a ghost of her former self, her inner journey now dead. She had ventured away from goodness, her muse’s strength broken. The chains were real though self-imposed. She lost sight of God. Jesus slid into an abyss, unclaimed for years. She manifested nothing new. Her nine to five became six to six, then six to seven. She was a babbling robot. Until her best friend died, and she realized she had not seen her for twenty-three months. All changed after that; she broke the corporate chains, began to dance down streets. Threw away her suits, claiming light floral dresses, wore a sun hat, and comfortable shoes. Gave her high heels to charity, and began to reinvent the turnpike of her essence. Wrote poetry, took ballet, manifested a life that brought Jesus back, and began to live.