(no subject)
How would it be, I wonder, if I didn’t feel as though all the creativity in the world were gone?
“It’s been done,” I’ll think, and feel deflated about it all.
Would I be inspired? Would I be encouraged? Would I strive to become more than what I am?
And what am I, when all’s said and done? For very few am I remarkable, for most I am a shade of grey.
As it stands, I’m unenthused. The status quo seems fine, I suppose. It doesn’t seem likely that drastic change will ever happen to me, self-fulfilling prophesy be damned.
“It’s been done,” I’ll think, and feel deflated about it all.
Would I be inspired? Would I be encouraged? Would I strive to become more than what I am?
And what am I, when all’s said and done? For very few am I remarkable, for most I am a shade of grey.
As it stands, I’m unenthused. The status quo seems fine, I suppose. It doesn’t seem likely that drastic change will ever happen to me, self-fulfilling prophesy be damned.