Gabe K.
My collective literary works were once described as the written reincarnations of Apollo’s pondering, as the true accounts of all things good and the 8th wonder of the world. However, with great power comes great responsibility. I use my omnipotent power of writing only for the good of society: to better the digital realm known as Facebook, to convey my emotions of goodwill and supremacy through texts, and to grace my English teachers with outstanding manuscripts of style and prowess. Sometimes, inspiration evades me until mere hours before a deadline and I must work with the speed of a warrior rabbit to complete my masterpieces; unfortunately, I am misunderstood by my peers and mature relations and am judged during my times of trial. Their misperceptions pronounce me to be a procrastinating vagabond and I am but a Cassandra to say otherwise. In short I am the greatest and most misunderstood mythical genius of this age.
But what I really am when I walk of this stage and into the limelight of my personel brodway: I am a blind whale constantly drifting though my writing unable to settle on a subject in fear of being caught as a cripple. Beneath my protective laver of fat my writing is nothing but a skeleton of something great. And behind the facade of confidence and greatness, there is nothing but a blind whale hoping not to run into a rock.