This is hard.  I've started and restarted and reworded the first line of this a million times.

I'm trying to keep up with my thoughts, but either I'm ignoring them or they're moving too fast for me to notice their importance.  I feel like I'm trying to write it all down with a paintbrush.  It's clumsy, illegible, possibly irrational even.

I started a painting and hated it.  I know I'm good, so why do I hate it?  It's not bad at all, but every time I look at it I'm disappointed in myself. 
Now, I'm staring at a masterpiece.  I've kissed that mouth, held those hands, and loved that skin.  As much as that should please me, I'm disappointed again.  I've done something wrong.  I've missed a step.  A sketch.  A technique.  I haven't learned everything.

When will I learn what I need to know?

I've been sleeping too late.  These dreams I've been having are entirely too fascinating, and when I wake up I feel the disappointment again.  I'm dreaming of feelings I've never felt, but I know I could, and I know someone could feel them for me too.  But everyone backs out.  I smoke too much, I drink too much, I weigh too much, I care too much, I exaggerate too much, I fantasize too much.  I'm too much, I get it.  However, one of these days I'll paint my masterpiece.  Then I can kiss, hold, and love.  I'll be a masterpiece too, and then I won't be too much.