If you give us a compliment and we don't take it,
or we disagree,
or we shake our heads.
It's not because we hate you.
Or because weŕe mad.
Its because we hate us.
Its because weŕe still learning to deal with us, our imperfections.
Weŕe still trying to accept the fact that the yellow on that flower we painted isn't the absolute exact shade it's supposed to be.
Or that we could have used a better word than red to describe the sun right before it goes down.
We are learning to be able to look at what we did and be proud.
We have been worn down by our minds that weĺl never be as good as that girl in art.
Or that our stories sounds like a third grade writing assignment.
We are trying to accept the fact that what we do may not be interesting to everyone.
We are learning how to not feel the need to look for approval because without that what's the point of doing anything, right?
It's especially hard to be good at something no one likes.
Or to do something that few people want to look at.
Writing especially.
We write and carefully look for the best adjectives and verbs to craft what we do.
But no one cares about writing.
They want art.
They want something visual that they don't need to figure out because no one has the patience to read.
No one.
People will hear but they won't listen.
Theyĺl look but they won't see.
Writing is hard to do.
It is.
But everything is hard in one way or another.
Accepting compliments is hard.
It's not because we hate you.
Or we think your opinion is invalid.
Its because we hate us.
We think we are invalid.
Were learning, we swear.
Just please, give us patience.
Shove the idea that we are the closest thing do DaVinci you have seen because that's what we need.
We don't need a ¨Hey, that's a nice picture,
We need a ¨Wow! thats amazing? Did you draw that? That's the coolest thing i have seen all week? How did you draw that?
We want someone to show interest because people rarely do.
Scratch that.
We want honesty.
True things.
We need you to tell us that somewhere in the world red it a perfect damn word to describe the sunset.
Or that flowers are not always the same shade of yellow.
We just want... Something.
Maybe we'll never know.
Maybe it's just a roundabout of pain.
But please, keep trying.
