As hard as I try to teach myself humility, I let myself get big-headed on literature. But it's not entirely my fault. My ever supportive group of friends always remind me that writing is what I do -- what I'm known for. I admit that I pride myself immensely on my skills. Skeptical to begin with, when I analyze other people's works, I tend to get extremely critical.
Well - Irony has kicked my ass more than once and he's knocking on my door once again.
The two people whose writing I feel is so incredibly fabricated... grr!! THEY get recognized! NOT me!
If Fate loves to mess with people, Fate has fucked me a good one this time.
But how is it that in 7th grade I was recognized?? How is it that now I have worked and worked and worked all for nothing?? I pull stories out of my ass and it's g o o d?! Yet, when I have something to say that's important and thought out.... and n o t h i n g?!! How can that be?
I lost something of myself.... I lost Talent while talking to Ambition.
What a glass dagger...
