It feels like I've been in the same place mentally for the past 5 years: hating my current career path, and not sure where to go from here. It'll take me years to be a good enough artist or even writer to make it big. At least it feels that way. Discouragement and motivation...these two bastards seem to mate on a regular basis in my head.
I have a pink box, scuffed and torn,
no ribbon or bow,
where I tuck away my frustrations and doubts, my hateful thoughts and rages;
folded neatly, stacked one on top another.
Sometimes I shake the box to see what comes out.
Sometimes I kick it over by accident and accept the consequences.
Then I fold them all up again,
and put them away.