Shit

I keep reading shit. It is unintentional, I don’t seek it out. I read it and think, that’s toss. 
It will be the winner of a very well respected competition, or a piece published in a literary magazine, or a book published to critical acclaim, and I always want it to be good. I want to be amazed, and moved, I want to read work that resonates. I want there to be greatness. But there isn’t. It’s shit. Average at best.
I write, and I want to wrench words from my soul and type them, communicate. I try, and that too is shit. It’s all shit.

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