Why do I keep waiting?

No it’s not me, the one that goes and follows his dreams; it’s not me the one that moves against the flow to fulfill its goals.

It’s not me the one that will achieve the impossible or reach the stars.

Why not, you ask?

Because I am sick, I have to be.... if I am not mentally ill, then I am just one simple, ordinary, and slob.

I have to be sick; I have to have something that limits me, something that’s beyond my control, beyond my will.

If not, I’m just a looser... just human scum...

But no, that’s not me, I won’t be, I rather be ill, than be just some lazy bastard.

Does wishing this make me a coward? A miserable coward that just can’t accept that he is too weak, that life is just too tough for him?

I feel I failed, but I know I haven’t even started. I feel drawn into screaming for help, crying out for someone to save me from my own monotonous life and lack of will.

Why can’t I do what I want to do? Why can’t I make phone call or take a bus. Why am I here... waiting, for life to happen, for my dreams to come true?

Why do I keep waiting to be discovered, that someone will see something special and do for me what I can do...

When will I really be done, when will my options really be over?

Am I a cow waiting to grow horns? How exactly do you classify those who wish to be better, sincerely and truthfully, but never actually give a step forward towards it?

Now I’ll stay here and weep, weep over things that never happened and never will. Wishing I was someone, anyone... just not me.

(11 days late)