I have things I love.
     In forms of all forms of Art I find that I love them
Starry eyed I take to it. Pen to paper. I draw, I sculpt, I write.
      But every time I look up.



Perfection in all angles.
Preformed by creators who far surpass me.
I want to be          good.
Good enough that i'm adequate.

But in the footprints of the greats I'm never adequate.
My hobbies aren't hobbies.

                                             they hurt me.


Because I throw myself into a never ending loop.  

I start, I compare, then despair.

It hurts.  

My hobbies hurt my mind.