I don't want a job.
NO.
Like money can stop interfering with me.
I rather would not work for a living,
But I wanna draw and color the world in pictures of it's own discourse and make my world a piece of mastery one can admire,
But I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place to make the payments on apartments and college tuition that keeps rising,
And my knee hurts and I don't wanna deal with customers,
There made of fire and ice, willing to burn me or quick to give a cold and uneasy shoulder,
It's not at all fun,
I just wanna swim all day and think of life,
My mind is full of mystical mysteries to which I have yet to discover,
People to meet and pictures to create,
Something I haven't had any time to do, And I feel like a stump,
Broken and cut down in it's good prime of life,
I'm weaken by the roots,
Discolored and suffering with grief,
Who am I? What is my job and who am I to be,
should I live in BG, or should I make my own path without professors and lessons and a degree that will make me so indented and wittle my brain to complete nothing,
with all that coffee,
I'm so stressed with the complexities and anxieties that life seems to throw at me, envying my sister for her talents in photography,
And what do i have?
nothing but a smile to give guys who treat me nice for awhile then leave,
i guess I am a nothing but a face,
I can draw,
Sometimes, lately it's been in vain and I feel nothing,