Imagine never being appreciated for anything you do. Imagine playing covers your whole life until you get comfortable doing your own style, but no one likes it. This isn’t the kind of self obsessed fare where you are a remodeler and your friends are constantly praising someone in the same field so you feel jealous and disabused of your skills. This is the same thing consistently happening. Your a poet and people even your friends think it’s good but is it great tho? They prefer other writers. You’ve always been an artist and your friends even your parents think “you couldn’t have done that” and when they finally are convinced that you have, oh that’s kind of dark, can’t you paint a landscape? Then your friends they buy pieces from others but don’t ever seem to know you exist. It’s kinda a special kind of hell. So you start to think to yourself “maybe I’m just not that good” your hands forget how to paint because now it’s been years, and you’ve never been anyone’s favorite. In fact, the only thing you were ever a favorite in was something so special something so sacred to you that to part with it kills a tiny piece of it off every.single.time. You kind of reserve yourself as a jack of all trades master of nothing.