Little Feeling

I write. I am a writer. People tell me beautiful things.

I’ve dealt with difficult stories. Why would this little feeling be enough for me?

Maybe that’s it—it’s not enough. I’m not satisfied.

I want to be celebrated because I also know I am a lot, even if I don’t always feel that way.

I deserve to be treated as someone who matters, not just to be there.

I’m not here to fulfill others’ needs, but I want to feel loved to be willing to do that.

If I don’t feel wanted, there’s no willingness.

Celebrated. I want to be celebrated like with my best friends.

To be well, to satisfy desires, to rest and have fun.

As it is now, I’m not satisfied.

(I won’t let it stay this way)