It’s never going to be good enough. I’m never going to be good enough. People will judge me, and criticize me, mostly I will be hard on myself, bringing myself down, so down, my life won’t mean anything until I achieve absolute perfection. Writing, composing, living…My stories aren’t good enough. My life isn’t good enough. I’m never satisfied. I always want more.

Because instant gratification taught me how to get a quick fix every time I felt unsure about something, I forgot to learn patience. I forgot to take the time to take the time. I built up resentments – at the world – and mostly at myself, but for what end?

I remember the days where I was writing poetry on my notepad, and I thought the world was dark because my world was dark. This darkness engulfed every one of my dreams, pushing me to dwell deeper into…