Why don’t I draw more?

What am I waiting for?

I’m waiting on a giant missile,

to destroy my apathy,

and energize my vision,

a sudden burst of eternal motivation and drive.

I know now it’s not coming.

There will be no grand reveal or impartation,

no, not for me.

My success, the completion of my race,

is in the little efforts made,

the daily grind of a small drawing,

intentional marks on the page.

A doodle is not a doodle,

rather a link in the chain,

from here to there,

from scared to active.

I want to create things,

that hit people in the chest,

and melt their battered minds,

but first, I must be content to draw shoes, and birds,

and the trees outside my window.