I’m writing during
the day. Quiet house, others
gone. The muse comes out.
Secret
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I’m writing during
the day. Quiet house, others
gone. The muse comes out.
Tomorrow she takes
a test that may very well
determine her life.
Staying up all night
is the new black. I wear it
and dance until dawn.
Life is a series
of trial runs. So when practice
is over, it’s time.
Almost famous, I
can finally take pride in
my accomplishment.
People link to me.
Complete strangers think my words
have validity.
For years I’ve been told
“you’re a great writer.” With that
paycheck comes belief.
Now I blog somewhere
else. A paid professional,
thousands read my work.
Congratulations
follow me like flies all be
cause of my new job.
Today it didn’t
happen. But I thought it would.
What does Facade say?