Is The World Ready For My Art?

Desaturated flowers

I have all these feelings, right?

I have been like this my whole life. I’m never really in between; I am always really one feeling or really another feeling. The good ones are great and the bad ones deserve an escape.

We all have our outlets. Artists leave it all on their canvas and people are in awe, and the praise never ends. Words are my saving grace. I reject the romantic notion that a creative must suffer to produce art, but nothing produces authentic work like relying on your art to save you. I’d love to celebrate the work that comes from such pain, yet, I am afraid that if I leave it all on this page, I’ll be judged.

Our minds wander past dark and love to play in the realms of absolute horrifying yet seeing it all laid in words makes it so tangible that it terrifies people. I am afraid that perceptions of me would change. That somehow I am what I wrote in a moment of deep, deep despair. When I only shared when I felt brave enough, safe, and proud.

I’m afraid that my words go to places that people aren’t ready to admit exists. That somehow my human experience of emotions will dilute my intelligence.

However, these are all my fears. Maybe I’m living in an understanding world, and it is I who is intolerant of myself.

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