Potential

I feel half-formed and unready,

a catalyst with no trigger,

a long-dormant volcano

uncertainly building up to

its next explosion of life.

Like all my potential is waiting

behind a door ajar,

offering a backlit glimpse

of something not yet reachable.

I have the will, the desire, the motive.

But that ever elusive final ingredient,

the key to unlocking my deepest self,

still zigzags around, skipping over knuckles,

dancing across magma

and ignoring my outstretched fingertips.

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