Who draws the line?

the choice is there but I can't reach,
stuck behind a revolving wall of
mirrors refraining, restraining,
I watch myself running out
of control a million times, rushing
into holes; I pick & I drop,
like feathers from torn pillows,
the ones I suffocate within, the ones I cannot sleep on,
there are stories I start but
can't complete because they are
too much of me.

I will one day, in a room full of no one
stand up and make a speech about
all the things I could've been yet
did not find it inside myself
to actually be because
the shoes didn't fit and I
lived in sleepless nights
for too long.