The Competitive Side in Me

mine.

This is one of my favorite photographs I've ever taken. I love the grittiness and the rawness of it, I guess it's similar to my love of Brand New.


Soco Amaretto Lime - Brand New

In high school, I really struggled with art class. Not necessarily because I was "bad" at art, if that's even possible, but because my art teacher kind of bullied me. She made me feel absolutely terrible about my art, and I think my work started to reflect it. It's so sad when people allow their personal aesthetic to prevent them from being supportive. I'm just now realizing how I crave to turn my frustration of people not liking my work into art. I want to shove it in their faces that I can in fact create things worth looking at. It really sucks that I feel I have to prove myself and my abilities. I guess thinking about it, the only medium I've really had support for is writing, but even that is iffy. For the longest time, my parents would ridicule my love of art, music, and literature, claiming that none were suitable careers and that I would be a starving artist. Only recently have I begun to receive their support in writing, and it's only because they think I have some "talent." What is talent even? I can tell you right now, I am a person of passion. All "talent" is simply a result of hard work and dedication.

I don't know what I'm getting at... I think it's that the next step on my journey to self-acception and appreciation is my own appreciation of my art. I shouldn't need validation about what I'm putting out, and it shouldn't matter whether you like my work or not. I won't allow it to matter, I won't allow your personal opinion to affect me. I will teach myself how to be the confident person I want to be. Which means it shouldn't matter whether my viewers want to see words or images or what. I need to start creating for me again, whatever that means. The competitive side of me wants to show you that I am capable of creating something beautiful, and the most awe-inspiring things I create are created with myself in mind. I have to make art for me, I have to write for me, I have to exist for me, not for you. It's only when I truly love my work that maybe you will to. And if you don't love it or if you look down upon me as an artist, then fuck you. Every individual is different. What makes me an artist may not apply to you or any one else.

God damn, I just want to create something. Right now. I wish I had my watercolors.


The competitive side of me wants to make something so I can shove it in your face and say "APPRECIATE ME, DAMNIT! I'M AN ARTIST TOO! I CAN CREATE TOO! I CAN MAKE BEAUTIFUL THINGS, I CAN INSPIRE BIRDS TO SING! YOU'RE NOT THE ONLY ONE WITH PASSION."
The realistic side of me says "make things for you, make things for no one but you." So that is exactly what I will do.

mine. (a doodle)

What Am I Afraid Of?

I'm afraid of you. I'm terrified of letting you in because (what if) you don't like who i am (inside). and this is when my heart starts racing, stops beating, the in between. me fearing you and this relationship. because what if i want something else, someone else (nothing lasts forever) and sometimes we need a (change) new day or place. but then i really like (you) and this and us and (you) just make me so happy i think (you) may just make me (glow) brighter. but really i'm just petrified by this idea, the idea, (idea of) ending up like my parents. because they have hurt me in more ways than i can illustrate with the flick of my tongue and (sting of) my words. and i don't want to do that, i don't want to do that to anyone else. i don't want to be that kind of (monster) that tears apart its children's lives. i want my kids to be happy (like you make me). and i know this is the future (and the future is forever away) but the future is now and i think a hella lot and sometimes (i can't help but wonder) sometimes i get caught up in my thoughts but it's because i want so many big things and (i want to make big things) i want to be a part of something big. and you make me feel like that's possible. is it possible. (possibly). and that (hope), you as the flicker of light in this darkened state of unconscious that i feel (i'm stuck watching the world pass me by, but i want to be a part of it), that i've always felt having watched my parents. i don't want to (feel) alone anymore!
i want you to open my eyes and sometimes i think you already have begun to and it scares me because you give me so much hope but what happens when you're gone? nothing lasts forever. but some things last long enough to leave their mark on the world. i want to be a part of something big, something that leaves a mark, i want to be a part of the world (with you).