Whenever you write something and you believe that its absolutely amazing, don't you want people to read it?

When a flower blooms or wilts and withers away, don't you notice?

Whenever there is a piece of art on display, don't you comment about it to yourself?

Then why? Why is it so difficult for your voice to be heard? Why do people look at what you have done and walk right by? Why? When your soul is on display and you are vulnerable, why are you shrugged off?

Even if this world is cold and damp, shouldn't you want to leap into the imagination of another to sooth your aching soul?

So why, why can't one be appreciated for their hard work? It may not be the best nor the brightest, nor the most colorful; but it is all worthy of recognition.