My dad would give me $10, which is a lot of money when you’re 9, to sing at church, on tables at restaurants, at family functions, just about anywhere.
I remember really vividly kneeling by my bed as a nine-year-old, saying my prayers and asking God to give me boobs that were so big that if I laid on my back I wouldn’t be able to see my feet.
There are a lot of things that are personally uncomfortable to show, especially me without makeup and completely bloated or crying. But I’ve realized that it’s time for me to show my audience that you don’t have to be perfect to achieve your dreams. Because nobody relates to being perfect.
The past is like a handful of dust. It filters through your fingers, disappearing little by little. I wish, for one day, I could go back. In another life, I would do things differently.
