Stress, depression, frustration, loneliness, isolation... the consequences of lacking a source of income. The retaliation of life at all job hunting attempts that collided with the wall of failure,
An omen: I should have fought harder to keep the one I had.
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Now the hunt has me in the palm of its hand all over again,
Placing knocks on doors owned by people who don't even want to set a single gaze on me,
Is my pride striding on the desert? Where is the glowing joy that used to greet me when I rise every sunrise?
The scarcity of money has me feeling like an alien in a world I have dwelled in all my Life.
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The shadows of poverty are staring at me, mocking me and chuckling in joy. The state of being broke sells a piece of me to them every day,
I feel like I can just scream so loud that the skies crumble open and rain down a storm with drops made of paper and silver coins.
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Wow! Look! A money storm! Wait 'til the banks hear about this,
Imagine a button that you could press to orchestrate a marriage between fantasy and reality,
How long must I travel through the jungle they call '9 to 5', hoping to catch prey that I can call a job?
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Stuff it! Let me dig deep into the depths of my imagination. I believe I will mine a blueprint that will show me the way to invent my own source of income,
And so, I declare: with or without a 9 to 5 – the times to wake up after sunrise and find glowing joy waiting for me, shall return,
This war is not over, it's just beginning.
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Self-made money storm comin' up!
Pic credit: Pexels
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