i sit
completely still.
painfully aware of the fact
that i am not moving foward.

i look down upon my useless form
as if outside my body
and wonder why i don't get up
do something
create something
be something
do anything
at all

bound by fear and and perfectionism
or perhaps just laziness
i wait for the perfect time to start
but it doesn't come
because it's already passed me by
at least a hundred times.

tomorrow,
tomorrow,
tomorrow,
and i will change.

but it's today.

and here i sit.

the yearning ache within me to be something
do something great
make a name for myself
be somebody
be good at something,
anything,
is so strong
to the point of being paralyzing
for the fear of ruining it before
i even lay pen to page,
finger to shutter,
paint to paper
is overwhelming.

here i sit.

maybe tomorrow will be the day.




and maybe i've already let it pass me by.