Standing at the edge, heart racing,
looking down into the abyss of uncertainty,
I feel the weight of the decision
pressing hard against my chest.
Every day, the job—the grind, the relentless march,
has worn me down, drained me dry,
leaving me a hollow shell,
a mere shadow of who I used to be.
The pain, the stress, the suffocating pressure
has pushed me to this precipice,
where the only way out is to leap,
to leave behind the chains that bind me.
The terrifying decision looms large,
like a dark cloud threatening to swallow me whole.
But beneath the fear, a flicker of hope,
a whisper of what could be, if only I dared.
To create art again,
to feel the brush in my hand, the ink on my fingers,
to breathe life into the blank canvas,
to let my soul pour out in colors and shapes.
It's a calling I can't ignore,
a longing that has been buried,
smothered by the demands of a life
that isn't truly mine.
To express myself authentically,
to show the world the raw, unfiltered truth
of who I am, of what I feel,
is a dream I've clung to in the darkest of nights.
I see myself, free from the shackles,
creating not for approval, but for the pure joy of it,
for the healing it brings, for the release,
for the sheer exhilaration of being truly, utterly me.
The leap is terrifying, yes,
but it's also exhilarating, liberating,
a chance to reclaim my life,
to rediscover the passion that once burned so bright.
So here I stand, on the edge,
heart pounding, breath caught in my throat,
ready to jump, to take that leap,
to leave behind the pain and stress,
and dive headfirst into the unknown.
For in that unknown lies possibility,
a world where I can be free,
where I can create, express, and live
authentically, fearlessly, as the artist I was always meant to be.