Tired, I am

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 Tired, I am,
of knowing there is never a perfect time,
yet still trying to force
a perfect version of myself
to meet it.

I am never ready.
Never complete.
Never enough to begin.
And still, I wait.

What are you afraid of?
Showing people an imperfect you?
Failing to deliver what you imagine as quality?
Or being seen… and judged?

You know the answers.
That’s what unsettles you.

You watch the heights you envy,
and stay where you are,
unable to step forward,
unable to even be proud yourself.

O child,
how will you grow
if you wait to be whole first?

How will you learn
if you refuse to begin?
A.V

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