never ending summer

I found my own blog very crappy. It doesn't contain meaningful things as I hoped it would be. It was supposed to be me trying to conquer the world with my own words, my own stories. With language that are hard to digest by people yet sounded meaningful. I wanted to sound smart.
It should've sounded like a young writer who trying to strive, who's writings were influenced by Dante or Steinbeck. Instead I write like a teenie-bopper who just got her first period. My english is highly decreasing instead of increasing, I rarely read anymore. Does this mean my dream of changing the world by my writing is better left as a dream? That I should leave the world that I've loved so much ever since I was only a toddler? The world of literature.
Hell no. Who cares if my blog sounds like a teenager. Hell I AM a teenager. I felt tons of things yet I dunno how to express it let alone putting them into words. It's absolutely normal, isn't it. Even if the fact I can't write as good as Adilla whose writings are very good. But I'm trying, and that is all that should matter to me, right?