He stopped worrying about the scale numbers. He knew what had to be done and did it. Writing was his way of expression a journey with the right people he collaborated began to grow.
He noticed they had the big house and not happy. He didn't have much, but happy for most.
He was tired of trying to be put in a box and labels that had nothing to do with them. He knew some used their platform to manipulate others and take advantage. He stood his grown they hated him for it. He wasn't listening to them because he knew what he had to do, and what had to be done.

Love my poetry and love my pain.
What a shame it is that they all can relate

Funny how you can
Tell the moon
Is full
Even with the
Blinds closed
Radiance of light
Can't help but
Shimmy their way
Through the slits
But you feel it
First
Like someone is
Looking over you
And you look.up
And a beautiful
Snow colored oval
Stares back at you
Perhaps with a
Knowing smile

If I could write you a letter
For how much I love you
The pages would be filled
From margin to margin
On every page
They would reach heights
That would be above reach

If the pages ever tear
Ever fade away
Just know I'll be here
To love you every day ❤

Two Hearts, beat in time
Two Hearts, yours and mine
Two Bodies, step in time
Two Bodies, yours and mine
Two Souls, crying in time
Two Souls, yours and mine,
Two Minds, thinking in time
Two Minds, yours and mine


Two Lovers beautifully combine Heart, Body, Soul and Mind.
One beautiful package of  friendship respect and love.
Symbolised by the beautiful birds above, two white charming doves.

At what point am I known as a poet?
After how many stanzas and rhymes?
I've written some thousands of words
Yet my words are a way to pass time

Drizzling raindrops
Masked the mans freckles and tears
His flawed attributes

There, I've written some words
That describe both dilemma and pain
In a haiku format, no less
But from that- what have I gained?

Poem is quite the strange lad
As is Muse, his wife just as bad
They lure in the brains
Of us simple and sane
And we write till uncanny and mad

Wow, I've done it again
I've written a poem in style
You know, I think I'm a poet
Maybe I've been one a while...

Trust is like hair

It can go all the way down to your waist

But once you cut it...

It takes years to grow back