I’m not exceptional, neither do I know how to please the masses.
I can’t follow the crowd, and neither do I know how to lead it.
I’m just hungry, and I let the rage fuel me.
Keep working, I tell myself; no matter how futile it seems, keep writing.
Publish, Publish, Publish.
It’ll be frustrating, and painful, and it will feel like crap.
But showing up is half the battle, and if you’re not even trying then you’ll never know what could’ve been.
I write, even when I don’t want to — even when I don’t need to.
For me, it’s like punching an impenetrable wall hoping the vibration is enough to resonate through.
Maybe one of those vibrations will resonate beyond the mild spectrum of my surroundings, and inspire someone in a different part of the world — those voices will find me and rejuvenate the blood that flows through me in this path that I’ve chosen for myself; because I’m stubborn and I refuse to give up.
I’m not a victim, and I’m not disadvantaged.
I’m just another human being, whose only instinct is to keep refuelling this tank of creative force in hopes of generating a tornado.
Open yourself up, dammit — I tell myself.
Write and let it take on a life of its own.
Keep pushing even when the ideas fall empty; because I know in this pursuit someday they can no longer ignore me.
Spark the plug, every once in a while and it’ll create something worth reading.
Friction is how I find my voice, and adversity is how I learn to cope with failure.
But dammit, don’t you give up.
Because you chose this path, now stick to it.
No matter how empty it feels, some day it’ll be worth it.
Some day you too will realise the hard work paid off, and you remained humble through it.
What is success? — I ask myself.
Success is finding the will to do something to a point that I absolutely hate it, but I want to continue — because I’m stubborn and I’m not giving up.
I’ll annoy you to a point that you’ll read what I have to say; no matter how many times you look away.
In the end, when I’m all bloodied up, dishevelled, filled with the force of willpower that endlessly pushes me to get back up — you’ll question;
“What on earth are you made of?”
I’m made up of a body of water which refuses to quit, stirring up a storm when I sit still, and the countless hours I’ll pour my heart out — even if I fail, I know I’m not giving up until the day comes when I figure it out; it’s worth it, and it always will be. Until the day comes, you’ll no longer be able to ignore me.