Oh. The facts of life. We all just want to be appreciated. Noticed. We start out thinking otherwise. Trying to blend in, not wanting to stand out. Because that's what everyone else seems to do isn't it? That's why we don't raise our hands when we know the answers. That's why we're afraid to let someone else read our essays. That's why we hide behind earphones, books, phones and walls.

But at the same time, we all put our profiles online. We all want to be seen. We all want to be heard, so badly. That's why we defend our favorite movies, that's why we write poetry, write autobiographies in our heads. That's why we yield to peer pressure, and smoke, get tattoos.

We just want to be noticed, even as we hide, even as shrink away from the people who care. Or seem to.

I don't need to be heard. I want to be read. Read, appreciated, talked about, commented on. I. Want. To. Write. More than anything I've ever wanted to do. I recognise that now. That little 11-year-old kid who got praised in English class, whose composition was read out by the teacher in front of the entire class; that kid never went away. Since then, all he's ever wanted to do was relive that single moment of glory, when he was read and appreciated.

But it's so frustrating and heartwrenching to put your work out there and get nothing. Not even criticism. Not even a 'you suck'. Silence. Zip. Nothing at all.

The silence, the feeling of not being read, is scarier than the harshest criticism.

And I'm growing tired of it...