It's the same old song, set to the same, tired tune:

Where is my confidence? Where, oh where is my confidence?

I used to have confidence. And drive. Or at least I had drive. I've probably always had fake-me-out confidence. Anyway drive is all you need. But then...

Where is my drive? Where, oh where is my drive???

It's like as soon as I become old enough to realize my dreams I chicken out and depend on laziness to cover for me so I don't have to explain my insecurities.

I want to write. But there is nothing in this world that terrifies me more.

Not even hippos.

ink :: graphite