laywer
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A beautiful house sits on a hill
One that was built from scratch
I watched as the owner designed it;
To help, to endure, and to care,
To make the world, noble and fair,
To be able to heal the child with grace,
To return them to a parent's embrace,
To say I assisted children in need,
I've gone through everything.
Encouragement; Discouragement.
Praise; Ridicule.
Advice; Sabotage.
You name it, my art has felt it.
Then, an opportunity, a chance!
A risk, a gamble.
I was a woman drowning in my own tears, bound by the chains of my own depression.
No one around to listen to my story and be the ear to my painful confessions.
"What do you want to be when you grow up?"
"An artist," I innocently answered my parents at four years of age.
"What do you want to be in the future?"
