A bird sat on my shoulder and whispered to me " You should try art. " I sucked at it. People made fun of me. Teachers said I wasted my time. It's not like I'm a master of words or a scholar in art.

Some people ask me why I bother at all with the things. Why I get so tired and depressed when people make jokes of my writing and simplify it like they just can't be bothered with trying to understand. Why, what's the point? Why complain about it, why continue doing art?

Some people are asking themselves the same thing. " Why should I even do what I like doing when I'm not any good at it? " You sit your hands at your sides and idle them. You still your tongues and quiet your thoughts. We are troubled because we want meaning and clear cut answers to things.

We want validation because we feel like kings and queens of triumph. There is a world of apathy and everyone can tell you why you will be miserable, why you will fail. They'll treat you like a ghost and hate what you have to say when you choose to exist. They laugh when you're thinking harder than they do. They'll think to themselves " Why bother when nothing changes. "

Nothing ever changes for some people. Can you feel your hands shaking? Can you stare into the empty space and hear nothing? Can you see that there is no purpose, that we make elaborate backdrops and grow complacent of self given purpose? I ask you as an artist, as a writer, as an engineer, as a human. Why not?