up like a raisin in the sun--becoming putrid, sour.
I want my dreams to grow, to flourish like trees
never going without the nourishment of water and the sun.
It's not impossible to make it as a writer. Right?
You say my blogging is a waste of my time,
but I see potential here for a career and development.
I wasn't made for the 9 to 5. It's depressing.
I'm taking the risk, and I'll make it work somehow.
What I write about matters to me and to others.