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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is another rant. It may not turn out well, but I need to write it out.

Submitted: October 28, 2012

A A A | A A A

Submitted: October 28, 2012



Is it true?

What they said? What they've always said.

Everyone always told me I was a terrible artist, all the ones I don't know. Only my friends ever said  it was good.

My  drawings were great. My face  was sexy, and my sence of humore spot on. But I always  wondered if they just did it to make me happy.

If they did it to keep from seeing me sad,  or ruining a relationship. Usually I would just brush off the nast thoughts, thinking, "Screw it, I'm awesome!!"

But past events helped me think otherwise.

They helped me take a  step back, look closer at my art and examine  every detail.

I am  an awful artist, and an awful person. I don't know how, and don't know  why I ever thought my art was great. Or good in  any way.

\"\"Yes, this is bad, I  know. I've noticed, but only because I use the pad  to my laptop and not a  mous or tablet.


You know what??  Fuck that shit, I'm not falling into their games, I won't be toyed with like some kind of pawn  or anything. I  am NOT someone's little play  thing, and I AM strong. I am  a GREAT artist, and I know  it. I always have, and always  will. They  think they can bring me  down, they don't know what I have been through. Sure it pissed me off in the moment, but because  I'm strong I have recovered. I won't be  weak and fall to my knees in front of the computer crying because  of  you. I have grown  stronger, and will NOT be thrown around anymore. I'm not a little puppet,  and I won't be treated like  gum stuck  to the bottom of a shoe. I will instead be the foot ball,  safe  and secure in the players  arm's, as I safely write and  draw  in my home, showing  my stuff to only friends  family and close people. Then  I will  be thrown far from across the yard,  straight through the goal. Soaring high, I will post my art and other such on the internet. I will not be held back, just like the foot ball. As  soon as  it leaves his fingertips, it's gone with the wind.

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