Dreck, Table For One

  Well, I took a chance. I can finally admit I failed. I can finally admit it was a bad idea not only to self-publish my work, but to think for a second that anyone on this planet would want to read the emotional, horrible dreck between the pages. I didn’t want to say that to myself. I didn’t want to come with negativity, but that’s the reality. So, now what?

  As I watch other people beautifully float, create, and get the recognition, I feel like a vapid and terrible literary freak. I feel terribly invisible and ashamed I ever put ink to paper. What was I thinking? I went to my CreateSpace page and found that all four of the people who liked my book no longer liked it. It’s no different than the indifference to my weak advertising. Who was I kidding?

  When I think of all the effort, I picture myself trying to feverishly put wet pieces of paper back together. I see myself finally giving up, drinking the thorn-ridden poison of defeat. With each passing moment of trying to get someone to read this crap, I knew nothing would come. The faith rotted away. I had faith…for a while.

  I can’t depart from writing. I know that. I’ll always be writing for myself, getting few (yet always appreciated) likes. I never know what to do or where to present my work. I never feel like I’m good enough to go to any poetry read–whether it’s for PoC, for women, for Bisexuals, for fat women….just….who wants to read my shitty, sad angst, anyway? No one. Jeff didn’t even want to touch it, Darren stared at it and kinda liked it, and my dad is usually mortified by the dark honesty.

  This isn’t anything for anyone, and I’m standing in the middle of a cold, dying fire and a hot one. Cold, because sure why don’t I just stop and leave the writing and musings to the professionals; Then, hot, because again I can’t just STOP writing. How is that possible? It’s maddening. It’s corrosive. I want to do everything with this writing, I swear. I’m just frustrated and upset now. They say “don’t compare”, but obviously I ought to do something.

What am I doing wrong?

Everything.

Everything.

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