In the heart of 2019, broke and worn,
No job, just dreams, tired and torn.
Found a post, an online way,
Told my friend, "Apply today."
He got the job, but gear was rare,
No earphones sold anywhere.
Went to a friend who sold machines,
He gave me one, no in-betweens.
I passed it on, my brother thrived,
A simple act, and hope revived.
Then came a call, they needed tech,
I sent my CV, took the next step.
Only 20 systems, a fragile game,
But my dad’s shop taught me the name.
A “Midas touch,” but stakes were steep,
Golden dreams, but costs run deep.
My friend who gave me that first gear,
I vouched for him, put myself in fear.
Old earphones, I sold on loan,
Worked three floors, dreams of my own.
From 8 to 6, I built an app,
A job board map, a hopeful path.
It needed heart, not just code,
A vision shared, a heavy load.
Got a little change, a push to start,
But envy stabbed me in the heart.
Someone close, a known old face,
Framed me cold, to steal my place.
Six or eight machines, they vanished fast,
My record stained, my dream couldn’t last.
Promotion gone, my app lost light,
Still, I stayed to do what's right.
I worked to build a payroll plan,
Fair and clean for every man.
No bribes, just truth, a clear-cut line,
To track the work and count the time.
She saw me there, amid my storm,
Kind eyes, her voice was warm.
But I, a geek, with skin so raw,
Felt too strange for love or more.
Two days off, I’d heal then grind,
But haters waited, sharp and blind.
They wanted me gone, my truth ignored,
Dismissed with lies I couldn’t afford.
Now out again, with nothing left,
My soul bruised, my hopes were theft.
But still I dream, I still create,
Like AI art reshaping fate.
They killed my kindness, crushed my fire,
Still, I rise from muck and mire.
No gold, no crown, no platform grand,
Just faith, and the Brothers’ hands.
I'll build again, with scars in place,
Startup soul, held up by grace.
My child idea, I won't discard
It’s born of pain, it's battle-scarred.
Humming is her name like a flying bird.
This world is made by hidden ways,
Grand designs that span our days.
I’m not done there’s work ahead,
A story to write, from what was bled.
So here's my vow, though I’ve been torn
From ash and fire, the masters hands i return.
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