Empty Wallet, Hollow Hope

Why do I write? why ask me the very way I think and breathe seems natural to me but to make it in the the world and to help humanity, I need clams, dough, cream, the money. That being said I try and try still. I entered in a program where the rigor is real, when the greatest challenge is to learn and stay awake, it becomes a game of far more than give and take. Working nine to five, it's a challenging day, the two thirty feeling hits around ten anyway. Yet my effort not a penny seen, the first day I'm worn out, I'm a frightened teen. They want me to be a man but only one way, although I'm often different that is okay. I write because when I do I feel better, the previous lines were complaints about my day it was probably better, but shocked by one problem and it was me, math was not strong suit and it's all I see. I understand now just how far to go, but will I ever give up I guess I'll never know. I need the money because I am not an only child and my family's money will not last a while, split between three, it's not easy for lone woman to keep her children in clean sheets. So I'm here to raise the funds for a better tomorrow as my mother promised that we would never borrow.

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