Rejection

So yeah. No studio for me. Whatever. I can deal.
As much as I'd love to whine and complain about how I really wanted to get in, sob about how I'm so disappointed, and mope about how I guess my art skills aren't as good as I thought they were, I won't. I can't.
As I'm sure you all know, rejection hurts. It makes you reevaluate your skills, your talent, and your life. It makes you upset that you will be left alone to watch all your friends go while you sit out and watch them because they're all better than you. It makes you hate them, just a little, even though you know how RIDICULOUS that thought is because they deserve it and you should be happy for them, even though you can't help but feel jealous as they post their well-deserved happiness all over their facebook walls.
But I'm not here to cry and bitch and whine about how much my life sucks and how I hate my life, because I know this isn't the end of the world. I can be resilient and move on from this setback. I can take this lesson and learn from it. I can make it a goal to improve myself and my art. I can bounce back and get better and move forward. And best of all, I can take every single art class and later do seminar, which I will love.
Yes, I am disappointed and upset, but that will pass, and eventually I will come out of my rejection with all the positives in mind, and move towards becoming the best artist I can be.

Funny

Here's a poem I wrote just a few minutes ago when the inspiration hit
No, it's not for my English portfolio, and yes, this is a first draft. Critique is very welcome.

Funny
By me

I look funny when I wear a towel
After a shower
Wrapped over my chest
Held in place under my arms

I look funny when I dance at parties
Hips shaking awkwardly
Arms moving sporadically
To the beat of some song I hate

I look funny when I try to run
My short legs pushing me forward
My arms pumping with each step
My heart beating faster
And my destination doesn’t seem to get any closer

I look funny when I laugh
With my mouth open wide
My braces shining for all to see
My eyes squished by my raised cheeks

I look funny when I cry
Over a sad book or movie or memory
Tears streaking my face
My mouth blubbering uncontrollably
My eyes red and bloodshot

But I do these things anyway
Some bring me joy
Some offer me an escape
Some allow me to let go

Where would we be
If we never acted on what we felt?
Never spoke our minds
Never let go
Because we feared
What others
Would think of us

Who would we be
If our lives were ruled
By how we feel we look to others?

Maybe they are
Maybe they always have been.