I am not enough. Beauty escapes me, slipping from my fingers despite my desperate efforts to grasp it.
Music is my lifeline, yet there are thousands on this planet more talented than I could ever be. I hate this, yet I do nothing to change it. My biggest dream is to become a musician that others will desire to hear, but I know it is a dangerous thought to entertain. I live in a world with no hope for the hopeless.
Art is my peace, yet my drawings will never be orthodox. They don't make sense to others, and I accept this as failure. Isn't the motive behind art to convey thoughts and emotions to others through your own canvas? Yet I don't mind this. These images that I force onto paper are not for others to understand. Maybe this makes me a failure of an artist, but I can't seem to be bothered.
I am not enough to keep my own flesh and blood from thinking life is not worthwhile. In the aftershocks of the almost tragedy, this mantra beats through my brain. Not enough. Not enough. Not enough.
I am not enough to keep my mother from falling apart in her stress. Her tears are audible in the darkness, yet my love is not enough to dry them.
I am not enough to satisfy everyone, I never will be.
Why do I let my failures define who I am? I am so much more than what I can't be, but Self- Doubt is crippling. My greatest fear is that I will never find my purpose, and if I have no purpose, then what is the point of anything?
Not enough. Not enough. Not enough.
I hate the way I look at myself. I hate the way I hate myself.
However, the preconceived notions I have created are based on lies. It isn't my friends, my family, or even the World that I am not enough for.
It's myself.
- KM 09.27.2014
