here i sit.

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.

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