Sometimes I feel like I don't deserve the precious gift of life. I feel like nothing I do really matters as I am just a tiny speck of dust in an infinite universe. I also feel like I share my experiences to an empty room. I know this isn't true because I've been told by many that my vulnerability and creativity is very much appreciated.
I don't think I'm destined to be famous. I think that fame would corrupt the message that I end up conveying. I don't think sheer numbers are really the important part either. Still, sometimes I crave the fame just a little bit. It comes from a place of never being noticed. A childhood filled with the pain of being ignored. Of being told my imagination and lived experience were meaningless. That my flaws and deficiency were what mattered the most. Thirty years later, I am still hurt. The pain clouds my every decision and manifests itself in all of my art. It also allows me to appreciate the deep and profound beauty in most things. I also am aware of the suffering and pain all around me and it it's depressing, to put it mildly. There is so much and so little I can do. Maybe sometimes we're just meant to watch flowers in the rain.
