I once had dreams of becoming an artist who created the most amazing drawings and paintings. My dreams were crushed by my own hands.

No, my hands were not chopped off in a crazy accident or messed up in any way. Well, they are, but not physically. To put it simply, I was not given any talent in the art of the pencil. Or the paint brush. Or coloring. I am just not gifted in anything that involves using my hands to transfer images directly to paper. I cannot even draw a straight line with a ruler. Every time I try, some outside force casually moves the ruler slightly or makes my hand cramp. When I am told to fold papers in class, my work never looks like hamburgers or hotdogs; it looks somewhat like a Panini that has been dropped on the floor. I am pretty sure that at birth, my artistic talent said, “Someone else could use this,” and left me. Or maybe it just never even found me.

My fifth grade art teacher was not my biggest fan. She always thought that I could do better, and I tried to the best of my ability. At that point in time, I did not have any ability. I made it a habit to label my pictures for the sake of my teachers and my grades.

My handwriting is nothing short of grotesque, as well. My mind tends to wander, so if I do not write fast enough, my thoughts disappear forever into the great abyss of my subconscious, which is filled, I’m sure, with some terrifying things. I have become used to the confused looks that dawn on people’s faces when they attempt to read one of my handwritten works. Before they can even ask questions, “What’s that word? That one? Oh, and what about that one?” I’ve already answered them.

Most of my friends are incredibly blessed with artistic talent and beautiful handwriting (insert a picture of my sad, lonely, artistic  talent-lacking face here). They have attempted to teach me how to draw simple things, such as an eye, and are astounded when they discover the monstrous beast that releases itself from my hand. My stick figures even look like disgusting monsters released from the pits of scary places. However, I am proud to say that my recent project for biology class was actually legible and somewhat pretty.

I have improved slightly in my art skills since my birth, but they are still in the negative zone. There are days I wish I could draw like one of those famous artist men whose names I don’t know, because they are lost in the back of my brain (well, maybe not the one who cut his own ear off). Consider this my apology, poor future teachers. However, I do have a great appreciation of those who can create such amazing works, and I love examining artistic pieces with awe. For those of you who do what I cannot in art, I applaud you.