I don't know

[julian_n_kaed]

It's never good enough.

Every drawing I make, every line on the paper, I can't see past how it will always be less than the image in my mind. It doesn't matter what what others think they see. I know the truth. I know just how far short I fall.

That's not the point of why I draw though, so I don't let it hold me back.

I look at myself the same way though, and I see how far short I fall of how I picture myself wanting to be. I don't let it hold me back, but I am the only one who can see just how much I deviate from what I consider my full measure.

I still don't know what I'm doing with my life. I am two hundred years old, and I'm still waiting to grow up. I'm sure that says there is something pathetic about me. What do I want to be when I grow up? I don't know.

Father would be so disappointed. Then I'd laugh in his face and tell him I'm a better man than he ever was. I'd tell him I'm more of a success than he could have ever dreamed.

Of course, then he'd hit me. I was never allowed to win. That's why I'm still here, and he's dust.

But what am I doing?

Nobody knows.

~Julian