I have failed as an artist, I have failed due to my own procrastinistic nature and my inability to acknowledge beauty. I have failed due to my own lack of skill within carrying out my abstract capacity, part of my failure is due to my ignorance; in which I have reflected upon. Of course as an artist part of my failure is due to personal preference, I fail to visualize a colorful masterpiece, only utilizing black, white and the many shades in between. I have failed to grasp the meaning behind my own artwork, I have failed to become the artist I envisioned.

I have failed as a writer, I have failed due to my narcissistic nature blinding me, blinding me to the eloquence of poetic thought. Over encumbered by literary thoughts yet I fail to transcribe them, I use only the most intelligent words but I fail to comprehend their meaning. I fail to add grammatical integrity to the structure, to the structure of my poems, stories and my other literary pieces. I continually overlook the concepts in between the lines of my own literature, I failed to create literary perfection. I have failed as a poet, an author and a writer.

I have failed as a human, due to my inherited curse of disability, crippling my hands and rendering the morality of my thoughts. Failures brought in by corrupt mentality or perhaps they were created by the tainted past in which nightmares dwell. I have failed my mother as a son, I have failed my brother as sibling, I have failed them as family and this lies the reason for why they threw me to the wolves; it was only fair compensation. I failed because I lack what it takes to be educated in simple demeanor but complexities seem so regular; I have failed as a student to humanity. I have failed to become the man I envisioned, cowering when danger arises. I failed in all retrospect of the word failure. Does this make me normal? Doesn't this make me human? Isn't it all the imperfections that makes humanity beat, or does this make me a lesser man; a petty pawn among kings and queens?