I've learned to fly but I have no wings to fly with.

Imagine this: A 21 year old man is living in his parent's basement. He has unfinished novels and over-flowing ideas but he works at Burger king. His work, if you read it, would be classified as brilliant, provocative & inspiring. He spent most of his highschool career day dreaming and writing -he neglected his schoolwork so he had horrible grades. He finished a few classes in a community college but still no degree because he cannot decide whether he wants to be a writer, a teacher, an editor, a journalist, or a poet; Most of which are unreliable according to his mother but all of which he would be excellent at. He lives this life and people look down on him.
Then, there's another man, same age. He was a good student and graduated with a GPA high enough to go to his first choice college. His parents were rich enough to pay for his tuition and he even had connections for an internship at a Publishing company. He is a decent writer, he lacked voice but had knowledge of grammar, punctions and what not. He takes his daddy's advice and majors in Journalism and already has a shoe in to be a collumnist in a high selling magazine.

50 years later, the second man is living a good life. He is retired and has enough money saved up for his grandchildren's college fund. He has some regrets but not large. He dies with no callus on his hand except for the tips of his fingers from typing on his lap top.

The first man, struggles through life. He stopped writing for a few years because he had to focus on more important things. During work he sometimes thinks of clever stories, lines, poems and he reads a novel a night to feel caught up. He dies with a stack of unfinished work in the same basement he lived in years ago, in a house that he inherited after his parents passing.



Then, a young man in highschool with a heart for literature is studying about famous writers. The second man is nowhere to be found in these history books, he wrote collumns about news that never really mattered and sold his soul for the pay checks. Yet the first man is there, his unfinished work is analyzed and talked about and argued about how it was supposed to end. The young man idolizes the first man, he turns to his friend and asks, "He had all this talent and yet he never got anywhere while he was still alive, why do you think that is?"

_______________& here it is________________

I look at people who I've known or have passed by in life and I wonder how they drive through life with such ease. Day after day, the paintings, photographs and drawings I have look less and less admirable in my eyes. They look like a waste of time, money and supplies. All I've known of my self was that I'm an artist. I've been unsure of everything else. And now, I'm unsure of that too. Sometimes I think "these people" were born programmed with the ability to progress through life. The ability to open the right door and lead their life into success. Even now, as I write this, I hate my self for complaining. It seems that's all I do. But as the title says, I've learned to fly but I have no wings to fly with. It hurts to know that I could be qualified as a disappointment, but it hurts more to know that i've disappointed my self more than others.