If I wanted to cry out for attention, I’d get a megaphone,
I would not use the Internet.
I would get a microphone,
I would get my own talk show,
Or learn to make halfway decent Youtube videos,
Or find a way to work myself into an outfit that makes me feel their eyes,
Or slick back my hair and dye it something,
Or make the honor roll,
Or ask for it directly.
I would make it into fabulous paintings,
Or create a new genre of sculpture,
Or begin to dance in a way that defied gravity,
Or learn to teach sewing to people that will die alone in a Homeless shelter,
Or shave my Pomeranian like a squirrel,
Or get a tattoo just for the story like that nose piercing I had,
Or forget to wash my hair for 3 years,
Or make cynical blog posts about how I still can’t grow a beard,
Or wear ridiculous outfits that only I appreciate,
Or learn how to wear a thong,
Or paint my nails something ugly,
I would just accept the fact that to get attention, I have to do what I love and not make it about the attention or the not attention.
Just live my stupid life, accepting that fearless is the best option because the rest of it is chaos and crazy.