The thief was never life or time,
It was me, my fear and my own hesitation to climb.
I used to wait for courage to ride in strong,
For signs and moments, but they never came along.
Procrastination whispered, “Tomorrow’s fine…”
While quietly stealing what was meant to be mine.
Now I catch it in the subtle shift,
The mindless scroll, the tidy, the pointless drift.
Instead, I ask myself, what am I dodging here?
Is it the unknown? Success? Or is it just fear?
Naming it loosens procrastination’s grip,
And puts power back in my fingertips.
Motivation fades like a passing mood,
but discipline steps in, blunt and crude:
And I’ve learned to pause, and started to say
Fuck it. Do it anyway.
Procrastination still whispers that tomorrow’s safe,
But I now know better, because I have figured out my pace.
I’ve learned that trust is built in the promises I keep,
The tiny ones I whispered to myself before I go sleep.
Yesterday stole enough from me.
But now each new day is mine.
Because I refuse to allow my past fears and doubts
To steal anymore of my precious time
Fordy