Never tell someone you're a poet. Especially family. At least not when you're feeling vulnerable. "My that's pretty" and "Oh that's nice honey" make me want to scream. To write ugly bad goth dark things from the darkest, dirtiest parts of my warped brain, and stick those in their faces.

Emily Dickens-ish things, only darker.

No, okay, I'm never going to make a living off my poetry - only the rare few do. That's not the point. I'm giving the stuff away, here, after all. Free poetry anyone? Grrr.

Does it really take another poet to understand?

If so, I really need more poets as friends.

*sigh* Not giving up, won't stop writing, not feeling in the least suicidal. Just annoyed at some of the non-supportive people in my life. And myself, for allowing myself to be vulnerable with the wrong people. And maybe for not looking for supportive community sooner.