Manhattan is no place for a child to raise herself,

by Rachel Lynch in

She ain't real. She won't be able to love you like I will.  Bless your soul, you've got your head in the clouds. Those million dollar clothes and penthouses are really brining you down. You can't see through the sea of people using you now.

And you probably knew how to love once, but that was replaced by a wedding ring to the game and a long-shot at fame. Women half your age and bottle service is all the same. Finally standing on my own two feet, I have to give time to what's important to me. (And unlike you, it's not cars and jewelry.)

I don't know about you, but I know one thing. I'm not going to wait around here to make it. Anyone with a dream has to feel the same. If it's not given to me, then I'm gonna have to take it.