Sometimes I like to type, sometimes I do it with such delight. But when I write it's so quiet in here, my headspace is so not riot and clear.sometimes i've dangered myself by putting my ambition on the top shelf. Out of reach, unable to teach. Because when will I learn that it's never easy to earn...people's respect.
But that's just the first step to clarity.what ever that means it must be something shiny and neat, or someone small and petite,and there's nothing wrong with that, and i can say that as a fact...just take a look at me we are practically the same. It's just how we were built, how we were made. There's no need to be ashamed, that's just part of the game.
People say those who can't win, are those holding the bottle of gin. But yet again nobody's perfect. And if they were then who would be worth it. Because if we all had the same value, where's the true meaning at all. Who's the brave willing to take the fall, if we already built a bridge, we all play the same game...yet nobody wins.