All the time, I am surrounded by greatness.
It is almost as if I skitter about on the grimy ground
beneath the feet of those who walk before me with their heads externally held high
trying to catch whatever little flakes of brilliance fall from their shedding exterior.
I crawl behind, scraping up what they need no longer and make it new,
make it my own.
I feel not much more than a recycler digging through bins
wondering how I allowed myself to get to this place.
I move as a ghost searching silently for characteristics I'd like to emulate--
or what's worse--finding characteristics that I once had
that are now either missing entirely
or trapped under the glacierous surface of what used to be my being.
I hate it.
Back to the beginning I must go.
On my Father's lap must I sit and beg,
"Remind me who I am again?
And please, turn me into something better than that."
Everyone wants to make a difference.
At least, they all say so. . .
It is time to turn "say" into "do."
It is time to turn wishes into actions.
It is time to turn inspiration into art.
I have come to a point at which I must be more comfortable with walking in circles to start
than I would be with standing still
watching the world pass me by
one day at a time
while being eroded by the sands of time.
The first step. . .
. . .has been taken.
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