Undone, a few years worth of unprogress.
The threat internalised, I admit my fault.
The wall, the ceiling, the benchmark. All a comfortable lie.
Clear as day, this very internet is but a reflection of the self.

‘I can’t’ has always been ‘I won’t’.

‘I doubt’ has always been ‘I expect’.

‘I try’ was never more than ‘I want’.

I hate my words, but protect them viciously.
My pride smothers my freedom: excused away like a veteran, I profess to know my limits.
As much as I may fight it, deny it, ignore it - I am my own inspiration.
There is no new beginning, the journey has long begun. The time is always now.

My name is ______, and I’m a writer.