Limits

The struggle of my future and identity

       Canvas. I must think of this blank space as an empty canvas. A void that must be filled. I am filled. I am drowning in inspiration. I am coughing out the debris of fascination; the bits and pieces regurgitated from the world I fill myself with. But in my state of convulsion, there is no way to pump my stomach of these aspirations. There is no mode of transportation between this expanse of nothing to the full potential of paper, the completed extent of my caged mind. I can feel it bubble just under the surface, like a cauldron filled with hidden constituents; some are terrible, some unheard of and unconventional, bizarre and unwelcome. Others are beautiful and overwhelming; but all the while, they remain veiled, just beneath the surface of fog and confusion rolling off from the black iron mass. Underneath the shrouded median between me and my potential, the potion boils fiercely, fueled by the fires of my own persistence. And through all of this, there are three things that I can conclude. One: I can analyze myself as searchingly as I desire, but nothing will come of it until I apply what I have found. Two: It is there. Through all of my frustration and relentless hopelessness, I posses strengths still unknown to me. I am equipped with weaponry I could never dream of. Three: It is mine. No one else can be me. No one else could become what I make of my identity but myself. It is my life. My fight. My fate, decided by my actions and attitude alone.  I will become simply what I allow myself to be.



       And by this measure, there is no limit.

       I am unstoppable.

Author's Note

Any reviews or comments would be greatly appreciated. Thank you so much for your time.