To The Struggling Young Writers

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Although I’m at my worst, from what I’ve heard, I’ve not seen the worst yet. I concur. Talking of my worst, I’m at a point where I’m about to choose drugs to escape the reality of misery beckoning at my door. “For how long son?” As Long as I escape the harsh reality of lacking.

It’s just the other day, look at me now, calling the other day a year ago, well, I’m at my worst. Pardon me. It’s just the other day I was celebrating a win I thought would last. Who is laughing the last? Fate! I’ve lost. My writing journey started off quiet well, no stress, just writing my thoughts in blue. Could I have foreseen miseries when the journey commenced?

I guess you’re wondering what I’m going through, aren’t you? Well, I’m even ashamed to speak about it. I’m broke. It breaks me that I am. Huh! As if I’m never broke. Yes. You won’t understand me now when I say I’m broke, later, you’d. I’m broke. I need money. Everyone does, so do you. My journey has been cut short before reaching the next stage. I will do drugs. As if they’d help. Poor me.

Although I’m at my worst, I will wait with hope faith and grace, I believe, the storm shall pass and my writing journey will commence again and again I will win like I won. I’m at my worst. At your worst, believe.


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