Self-criticism of a Writer


You write, And nothing’s special.

Look at yourself, You think you’re good? Who told you that you are? You’re not potent. Yes, you aren’t. You’re only dramatic. You’re just full of execration. You’re so talentless. You’re not enough. People will never choose you.

Never.

I pity you. You share nothing. What you do aren’t impressive. Apparently not. You’re just a trash. Your pieces just deserves to be rumpled. You’re words are redundant and irrelevant, extraneous and impertinent . They won’t see anything in you. And they will never choose you.

Never.

You’re just a quite and big dismay. You’re only nothing.

So stop making things you can’t really do. Hypocrite.


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