Sitting concrete steps of this run down apartment. Looking up at the blue sky. Just flustered by my overwhelming thoughts."Am I stuck here forever?" I say to myself. I know I'm capable. Mom always told me that I better strive to my best, because she doesn't have the money for my wild dreams. So I've become the best I can be and I'm proud of that. But turns out, it might not matter anyway, because money makes the world go round and that is what it is all about. I sit here on these concrete steps with a journal in my hand, writing my rhymes, writing my heart. This is my escape. From this apartment, from this town, from this country and this world. I'll have to come back down again, but until then. I'll write.