I often find myself not valuing the
beauty of my own words

every stroke of my pen,
every etch in my sketchbook

All centered around the lingering thought,
that it simply is not good enough to exist.

This all sounds so ridiculous.

There is no reason as to why ones thoughts should simply exist over others, and vise versa.
why have I lived by this for so long that I am now unable
to create?
How does one find the spark to begin again.