**PIN POINT BULLET OF THE PEN**

Never will I care if this gets a 1 or a 10
AR will remain the same through thick and then
I shall write this without lifting the pen
The sharp pin point bullet of the ball point pen
Just give up the writer's block, and let it all go
Into this poem block, where it all nicely flows
True indeed, I was given the poetic seed
To spread knowledge and do some great causal deeds
But even with my positive qualities
The devil comes from behind
And says he shall not follow me in my own mind
Breathe fire, for eternal emotion's desire
But you can't burn me until my pen retires
You fool me once, but can't fool me again
We may got out of heaven
But I can come back in
There isn't a solid place on Earth
Where my words can't value much more than they're worth
So many out here, want to detach me
Forcing myself to be an outcast directly
But it's all good, I can't let it affect me
Because all these rejects can't help to reject me
Never knowing that they can learn plenty from my speech
But since they don't respect school
They'll never learn what I teach
Barry White said it best
Always practice what you preach
But ever since Barry died
R &B has been breached
Fused with rap
To make hybrid education
For the youth coming up
Into racial isolation
Into sections, groups of fame, popularity
Where fashion and money is the key to keeping clarity
Socially awkwards never maintain the balance
Which ends up having life go forward
And these remain silent
Because I am one of these inequalities
I speak on behalf on those who try to follow me
Instead of those who look they other way
Like my exes.. relatives, and ones who left me astray
I don't think I could have my life any other way
That's why I come to terms with the results day by day
Strike one was the plan to change personality
Strike two was the plan to die a causality
Strike three, I struck out due to romantic fantasy
All the pitches thrown I swung with a catastrophe
Surprisingly enough, when the going gets tough
I stepped to the plate again, knowing it was getting rough
I thought to myself a swing and hit was a must
Hit a triple and a grand slam, with all this poetic rust
From the bullet that was fired from the points of the pen
The pin point bullet that was never fired again