I am here to describe something.
I know jealousy.
I feel it in my heart.
When I see a painting,
When I see a sketch,
When I see a pattern,
When I hear a song.
Others have found their medium.
I am still searching.
And wanting...
Wanting and wanting and wanting.
I know jealousy.
I look at my art...
And it isn't good enough for me.