Why do I call myself a writer? Founded on what? I write. I produce? Is that product worth reading? Is that the metric? Is the quality of my writing decided by others? Is it the novelty of my opinion? Is it the confidence or beauty by which I express it? Do I like my writing? Do I write for myself? Do I write for quality? Do I determine that quality? Can I express all I feel through words? Does writing cheapen my emotion? Does emotion even describe it? Is there anything to express within myself? Do I want to feel valued? Seen? By myself? Creative? Productive? Perfect, like the girl across the table at the coffee shop, who sips her coffee and works on her computer, seeming to me a perfect system, with all its quirks intentional? Is she me? Am I perfect within myself? Is my writing perfect and beautiful, just as she is? Does she know that she is perfect? Does her perfection have worth? Do I see praise and feel a craving for recognition in the back of my mind as I write this? Hoping this piece will be seen and felt, maybe this line being the one that makes me special? Maybe I’ll capture a truth here? Or here? Or here? Maybe it’ll make me important. Maybe my writing will be better than all who see it and I’ll have worth. Will it be worth it? Will they understand it? Will my perfect expression of a newly realized truth fall on deaf ears? Blind eyes? Will I care about what they think? Will my truth be valuable to me? Even if they don’t see it? Will I see it and love it? And feel it? Determine its worth on my own? Will it exist in its own perfection to me? Will I exist in my own perfection? Will someone see me, sitting, writing, and think to themselves, what a beautifully perfect system, full of quirks, all the better?
submitted by /u/Dull-Examination-719
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