battle cries

My life sits before me, a vast empty canvas. What a privilege to have dreams and the ability to pursue them. The options seem limitless. Each choice beckons a unique identity. I ponder the many paths.

And I ponder, and I ponder.

How is it? That I want all of it.

And none of it.

If I say yes to this, it means losing all of that. The canvas expands before me. It grows so large that I think it might crush me.

As I search. Avenue after avenue.

Looking.

For who I am- for where I “belong”. My identity morphs into a puzzle, just slipping through my fingers.

I’m tempted to escape it all through the purposeless pursuit of pleasure. Or maybe I could be the most beautiful girl in the world.

Then I’d be happy.

The emptiness in my chest expands to a hole that nearly swallows me up.

But I won’t let it.

The brush becomes a tool of war. After all, it is I that has been the canvas all along.