Is Anybody Out There?
A lack of recognition.
The tumbleweed comes rolling towards me, and I see its spikes. How would you feel if 1,000 other writers earned $500 for what you’ve been doing for years and you weren’t one of them? You’d be enraged! If all you do is write, and you see no prizes, no windfalls, and no recognition, it becomes exhausting.
I will stand on my soapbox, and I will ask:
Why is it never me? When will my work be recognised for its passion and creative quality?
We are the ghosts who are silenced. We guffaw at the faux positivity from people who have received that recognition you need to survive, and you say:
How can you possibly know how it feels?
Death will be the only thing that sees me recognized, and the terrible thing is that I obviously won’t be around to witness it.
