The fleeting

        I don't know when I'm supposed to write my story. I keep waiting for the moment to arise but it just doesn't seem to show up. Or, maybe it has already and I was too distracted by my own dimensions of abstract, obstacles to even notice? If that is the case then I am really screwed. What do I do now? How do I catch up with the moments and opportunities that have already passed me by?

         I know that I have a story in me, I just don't know where to start. At the beginning, and how far back do I go? All the way? As far back as I don't want to remember? ...to be fair, I'm not sure if I'm ready to go there yet...this may have to wait some more... Be patient, I tell myself... 
I will soon arrive...soon, I will be just where I need to be to get this done.

         Every move I make is a move I think everyone else wants me to make. I mean literally. If I shift my body in one directions, somewhere in my subconscious, I think that that is the move thatI am supposed to make- by everyone else's standards. 
Nothing is my own. No movement, no action, sometimes, I think, not even my thoughts are mine to bear or, come to pass. I've been acting the way society tells me to act and I'm, finally, at a point where I more than just want it to stop, I think I'm at a point where I can almost make it stop and finally be free on my own. 
It took me a while but, I finally realize that I can't truly be on my own on the outside unless, I free myself from the inside first.

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