I'm broke, the month-end blues,
when my wild runs down bright alleys;
the card swipes and friendly toasts,
catch up, a reality check, I'm broke.
The manicured, recessed paycheck ain't any help,
'peanuts' for monkeys, go eat or starve.
Gliding my pen for what? Fake orgasms!
Wake up, just look at you, man you're broke.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A reality check. True at times your profession which is your passion, may not be so rewarding in material times. Then the question do you choose something which you do not enjoy or make compromises?