What am I doing with my life. As a Libra, just as I reach a higher step in life I reach a new low at the same exact time. The balance of life weighs heavy on my back. As I sit here in the Library of the Four Seasons in Los Angeles at Beverly Hills a lot of thoughts are rushing through my head. It’s like my life is traveling from Heaven to Hell in a matter of seconds. Only to go back again.
No one can understand how you can do the things I do and still have issues, still have problems and still not filled fulfilled. Hell is something wrong with me? I feel like a that hairdo that people tell you, it looks like but you can see all the frizz and struggle to the braids, twist and little out of places hairs all over your face. Being at the whim of other people isn’t ideal.
I want to scream, yell at the top of my lungs like a rapper does in the booth before they are about to spit a hot 16 about the struggle of society. Death and taxes, child support and bum bitches making you wish you never played Shyne and tried to protect Diddy in her undeserving nightclub she calls a vagina.
Still I am not in the predicament of the homeless man I witnessed digging through the trash for his pick of half drank iced coffees. He picked the one with visible ice cubes and no milk so he wouldn’t get sick during his cold drink of pick me up on a hot summer’s day in Beverly Hills. Yet I haven’t felt the type of joy this young girl in Starbucks felt when she rejoiced that one of her doll’s had panties and the other doll didn’t. She had two dolls with different levels of privilege. My brand is not big enough, but I haven’t fell as low to yearn for attention so much that I decide it would be a good idea to fuck a McChicken and share it on the timeline.
That would be an awful life. When your silence is broken by a group of people speaking a foreign language who could never know your struggle with first world problems. Talk is cheap but the gift to gab a blessing.