grind your cigarettes in my shittyassed dogbowl ashtray
i fucking hate ceramics.
i want to throw every single piece of shit i made out the fucking window and hear it break.
meanwhile, everybody else in class made these beautiful pieces they can be proud of -- 2 large cherries & a dragon wrapped around a bowl & sand dollars & a goat resting in a bed of sticks & a fish jumping out of a cup & turtles & an alien-head pencil-holder & leaping dolphins & a teapot/teacups set & a half-cracked egg on its side that functions as a container & even a map of the world.
and what the fuck did i make.
my art teacher: "umm... yeah... i think you got a little frustrated sometimes.... but i think.... well, i think... you started to find... started to... get it... towards the end... see, look... yeah... umm... well, don't feel... don't feel bad..."
shut up.
i feel like crying, which makes me even angrier at myself. why can't i be good at something. fuck this shit.
i want to throw every single piece of shit i made out the fucking window and hear it break.
meanwhile, everybody else in class made these beautiful pieces they can be proud of -- 2 large cherries & a dragon wrapped around a bowl & sand dollars & a goat resting in a bed of sticks & a fish jumping out of a cup & turtles & an alien-head pencil-holder & leaping dolphins & a teapot/teacups set & a half-cracked egg on its side that functions as a container & even a map of the world.
and what the fuck did i make.
my art teacher: "umm... yeah... i think you got a little frustrated sometimes.... but i think.... well, i think... you started to find... started to... get it... towards the end... see, look... yeah... umm... well, don't feel... don't feel bad..."
shut up.
i feel like crying, which makes me even angrier at myself. why can't i be good at something. fuck this shit.