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 ❤