Limits.

“Limits are the white boring lines on an otherwise colorful canvas”

 

Growing up as a girl,

I’ve been always told that there are limits.

Limits to my dreams, limits to my desires.

Some dreams would be too colorful and some beyond the conventional lines.

The voices keep screaming,

Some mountains are too high to climb.

Some rivers too wide to cross.

Some seas too deep to dive.

And some roads to long to walk.

Limits on this and limits on that.

Limits dictating, from dusk till the end.

Life becomes a butterfly wrapped in the deadly grip of a web.

Dream high but only so much!

Shoot for the stars but only the ones inside the invisible line!

These limits are the obscure glass ceiling that stops us from going beyond.

They tell you with cheering voices to go far and beyond, as your heart desires!

But they keep forgetting to tell you about the leash they have on you.

Summoned, whenever they think you are too much for them to handle.

With time the lines get blurred and more and more entangled.

Metamorphosing in to a choking hazard of a new kind.

 

Sometimes, just sometimes

There are the lucky butterflies.

The once who decide to spread their wings.

The once who decide it’s time to fly.

To break the limits, to shatter the glass.

The once who muster the courage to fly,

Fly to the distance,

Away from all the limits and lines,

Where flowers grow, and the meadows smell like dreams.

 

Yet the voices will still keep telling you that limits are there for a reason.

Little did they know, for this butterfly the reason was simply to “Defy”

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3 thoughts on “Limits.

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