How do you get past that self-loathing phase?

No Disclaimers.

Up to the plants hanging
from the ceiling,
right where I want to be;
miniature in a
floating forest. The air
is so fresh from the
miracle of plant's breath.
It's a symbiotic relationship
we have
& that's my favorite kind.

Kind of distant, introspective
the whole of Black Coffee below
outrospecting, weaving
stories/characters/performances
into the wholeness
coalescing.

Maybe I'd tire of
man-made nature
& this constructed
fairy tale. Then,
I'd hold on tight to
the vines of the plant,
stepping over the
plastic green curb of
the planter & slide
down, swinging,
building momentum,
inertia so as I finally
breathe & let go.
I plop faintly on
a hanging lamp.
This dusty chandelier
I rock the same way
I did the plant's vine
& with disturbed
gray particles,
I float
to the next one...

Nearly.
The plan may have been more than I could chew
& I slip past my target,
falling on a bed of curls.
With a swat, I'm flung
under a chair-- but
I am not imprisoned by my size
& these widely-spaced wooden bars.
That would be dumb.

I book it to the mic
multiplying size in each step
& you see the multiplicity in me,
just in the manner of my arrival,
Now I'm here.