I am here.
I don’t ask for much; I seem to live in fear.
I feel like I don’t even exist.
I feel I have no place here.
I am loved, but I don’t know why;
I hear the reasons and I feel it’s a lie.
Why am I still here;
I ask myself time after time.
I know I’m good at doing things; but I’m better at failing at things.
Anything that I enjoy doing;
Is a sin or I don’t know how to get paid enough to survive.
I love to write and expression myself through art, story, poetry; but not on a level of being paid. So going back to the work force to get a steady paycheck is a must.
But I also must be happy, and money doesn’t make me happy; as soon as you get it; it’s gone.
I want to be gone;
I am a woman.
I am a wife.
I am a unknown writer.
I am just a warm body.