I’m broke.
What’s new? You bought a fancy egg for decoration when your own stomach aches.
The writer does not know what to write. He does not know what to say. She does not have anything worth saying. There is nothing to relate too. There is nothing to share. There is only one thing that the writer knows. They will starve if they do not make money.
It is time to sell.
The writer sell their body. They sell their precious hands to do labor. They sell their mind to do work in the mud of reality. They tuck away their neuroticism to deal with the optimistic people happily living.
Once the writer has made enough, they sit on the floor since they sold the chair. They want to tell the stories of their experiences. They want to tell the lives of the forgotten life. They want to share to the rest of the world. They want to sell their work.
Validation through monetary means is the living writer’s ultimate goals. The living writer waits for the day to come. Until then, he will gladly let his stomach recede in the pursuit of his dreams.
To write each and every day. Hoping that she will never face her greatest nightmare.
Writing the same poem again.
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