Jotting down notes, my pen is swimming.
Chasing the dream of celebrity splendor.
Better then mimicking collectors on the market.
Scavengers of short-term profit.
I hold my thoughts close to the page.
Not daring to let loose until copyright law has the stage.
I don’t want to be the one receiving the damning call.
Someone has created the project’s downfall.
It’s a scheme.
Pushed over the edge, becoming a meme.
I don’t want to be obscene.
Crushing wealth is deemed supreme.
Losing in the name of greedy theft.
There’s little reward in what’s left.
Cashed checks gone into someone else’s dream.
Turns people into the combating team.
I shouldn’t want to hide.
I don’t want it taken.
Ripped before I can partake in the reawakening.
I want to nurture my dreams before another team takes the shot.
Even if the story doesn’t get the published slot.
Searching for the gold that needs to be caught.
Does it bring additional growth outside the changing of my cot?
Do the words reflect the shifting land?
To have artistry stolen.
Is it worth trolling?
People need something to claim.
Especially if they get it from another name.
Why dine on my spine?
Why kill my fame?
Ghostwriting wasn’t apart of gain.
I acknowledge the damage done.
I’ll hold my creativity accountable until the battle is won.
Taking a measurement to release entrepreneurial sums.
Will I be rewarded?
Can I truly afford it?
The lessons of each session come in clearer?
Though my apex may be endearing.
My fear grows when drama is nearing.
It’s time to open the gap and stop pretending.
Close to the point, the words must anoint.
My spirit prevails whenever the words swell.
Be at ease.
My writer’s fear will blow away with the breeze.
Originally published at 12BY6.