I've spent most of my life rejecting the gifts I've been
given. My talent is not good enough; no one appreciates it; there is no value
in what I have to offer the world. Writing comes easily to me, naturally even;
therefore, I take it for granted.
I squander my time searching for an elusive something else,
something more meaningful, something others will desire from me. I've tried to
capitalize on worthwhile skills: the ability to manipulate numbers and
technology with engineering sciences, but my heart wasn't in it. I felt drained
and dead inside.
I ran away from my dreams in frustration and fear to a
proverbial desert, a place of needless struggle and suffering, only to be drawn
back again to the written word. I still care about compensation; I still want
to be rewarded for my insights and thought-provoking contributions. I want to
be admired and praised.
However, even if I receive not a single accolade in this
lifetime, I will continue to write; I will continue to sing; I will not hide
from my gifts any longer because they are what comprise me. When I focus on
expressing myself through poems and songs, I come alive on the inside.
No longer will I allow my financial obligations to run my
life. It might sound irresponsible of me to say so; I have been horribly afraid
to say so because my mind has been thoroughly conditioned to believe I need to
be responsible above all else, even if it costs me my soul.
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