I sit staring at a bottle and in some way relate it to my sad excuse for an attempt at life. You see this bottle is no ordinary bottle it was a perfectly round blood-red bottle. I, being me, don’t even notice the perfect design quality the old and vintage style. I, however, do notice the insignificant dent on the side, out of such a beautiful bottle all I notice is the insignificant dent. I take that and think on it for a mere moment and realize it’s exactly like the life I’m facing and unfortunately living. The perfect round circle that makes up the base is the people around me and that insignificant dent is me. I mess up that perfectly good bottle for no better reason than because I was made that way, or better yet, manufactured that way. I ruin and overall make a perfectly good bottle handy capped. I feel I’m constricting an almost perfect family, school, neighborhood, county, state, continent, and even in the end I feel I’m hurt the one thing we all live on, planet earth.

What is my purpose, what’s my niche in this world when do I stop being a liability and start becoming a necessity or overall reach a perfect state of well being. I myself can’t contribute in the ways I want I can’t help the people I love. I’m, as though it seems, forced into a place were the only thing I’m good for is pointing people in the right direction when they need a finger, I’m only hoping one day they figure out I have ten perfectly good fingers perfect for whatever I’m needed to put them too.