I’m sick of my own excuses.

Ideas piling up like junk,
rotting in the corners of my mind,
while I scroll, swipe, sink
doing everything except what I’m meant to do.

 

I’m tired of being the guy
who “has potential.”
Potential is a prison when you don’t use it.
And I’ve been rotting in that cell,
fooling myself with “tomorrows.”

 

Tomorrow is a lie.
Tomorrow is just fear dressed as time.
I am my worst enemy,
killing my own ideas
before they even breathe.

 

I let my doubts win.
I let perfection strangle progress.
I let procrastination hold me hostage.
And now?
I hate myself for it.

 

This is not a plea.
This is not a promise.
This is a war.

 

I’m done playing nice with my own mind.
No more second chances.
No more “someday.”
No more pity parties.

 

It’s time to burn the excuses.
Flood the fear.
Bleed the ideas dry until they’re real.
No matter how messy.
No matter how broken.

 

Because this isn’t a hobby.
This isn’t a choice.
This is survival.

 

Make.
Or break.