Naively, you have always thought your creative work should speak for itself.
Naively, you support those you believe in, in their creative and professional endeavors the best you can.
Doing these things is part of who are and you learned long ago that these things are not a good return on investment.
All the while you keep making yourself vulnerable. Day after day you choose to return and put yourself out there. You don’t consider all this a hobby.
On good days you feel above your need for any acknowledgment or praise. On bad days, you feel like barely breathing roadkill, ignored and as if you are already dead.
Not being prone to histrionics, you cringe slightly at all this drama.
Sometimes it seems as if the better your work, the less anyone notices. For reasons you can’t explain, you go on, trying to put into your words or photographs or whatever things that can’t be said.
You keep acting as if it doesn’t matter when nobody seems to see you there on the side of the road. You don’t look injured and are glad; your smile protects you and fools them into thinking you are a flit.
You are not in this game for pity.
But I know what’s on the inside.