Last bit of depressive angst for the night

I really, really wish I could tell if any of the art I do matters to anyone. I'm not the cleanest, I'm not the prettiest, and I'm not the sexiest.

I'm also not the worse, and I'm better than other people who do some crappy stuff and manage to get noticed. It makes me question why I try at times.

I'm so tired of dreaming into the void, and not even getting a hint of an echo back in return. I am so lost. I don't know who I am making for anymore. Making for me isn't enough anymore. It maybe never was enough for me.

I so desperately need community, but I have no idea how or where to find it. I am so out of place.