Daily journal my ass,
My time's not infinite and here I am,
Trudging through a morass,
Flailing my arms so I don't fall over,
Stuck neck deep in the mud,
Thinking of all I could have been and done,
If I'd nipped my hesitance in the bud,
The fear of failure, the fear of success,
Fear of finding my place,
Deciding to look in from the outside,
With yearning on my face.
Is it too late?
If I was born today,
Would I start doing things differently,
Or do them in the exactly same way?
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