I truly hate myself sometimes... well, most of the time. I have no self-worth, utterly no confidence in myself. Still, somehow I feel as though I'm destined for something, as if there's some latent greatness within just waiting to be unveiled. Nothing earth-shattering or newsworthy, mind you -- of course not, because I'm not good enough for that, right? Simply... perhaps, just perhaps I have the potential to create something so... lovely that for once I can allow myself an ounce of pride.

I feel as though I have an abundance of creative energy stored. My muse is a fickle creature who comes and goes as she pleases. In all my artistic endeavors, no minor talent ever lingers. I used to write, and in fact dreamed of pursuing it lifelong, and now I find myself mute... This is the best I can do anymore, and what is this worth? Nothing. I used to sing. Now to be honest and put my humility aside, I still have a pleasing voice and can carry a tune when I feel like it. However, some years ago, when I was a member of a select choir, something in my spirit broke and to personally bring music into the world was near to torture. I'm slowly healing, I suspect... And of course, I used to draw. I have a few different series with unique occurring themes. I enjoy returning to those pieces, sweeping my eyes over smooth lines and the rather tricky simplicity of the designs, but when I press pen to paper it pains me that I cannot return to these images and create more.

Perhaps the only greatness I can create is life. Maybe that is my purpose, to carry on this creative energy to a more worthy vessel. Maybe, if I am ever gifted with love and life, this child will make the world something worth fighting for. This is all I'm good for, creating new life; if not with words or music, then with flesh and love. This child will be my legacy, this child will be my song. Someday I pray I can create something as lovely as this child.