The Self-Conscious King (The King Who Laughed)

As the king walks down the quarter-mile of red carpet

he chuckles to himself, big smile on his face

strolling with the confidence and swagger of a lion

Then

as he begins to turn his head

he sees one woman whisper to another

A man. With a half-smiled smile on his face

A boy. With the blank look of unimpression on his face

The king

now with a look of concern

begins to slow his pace

His head not as high as before and his arms swinging lower

He hears, or so he thought he heard, someone laugh

“Who is it?!”, he yells

The audience responding with a look of confusion

“I’ll cut off his head!”, he screams at the crowd

Silence

Not a sound nor word is heard

He covers his face and rushes his way pass the on-looking  viewers of what he thinks is a disaster

Black Grass(Revision) - Black Heart(Colorless)

 

The grass is green

It’s a comfy place to lay

But my head hurts

As I squint my brown and red eyes I see faint hints of blue and white

I guess it’s the sky

As I roll over I see my shirt covered with burgundy

I guess it’s dried blood

Where am I?

All these colors surround me

I’m lost

Dried tears still linger on my face

I can still feel my heart but don’t get the same feeling these colors give me

It must be black

I Hate (Revision 2)

I hate this poem.

I haven't even finished writing it yet.
I know it'll be read and I'll have to do a revision.
I hate revising my expressions.
It makes my poems pointless.

I hate life.

I nolonger enjoy living.
Something that was once a challenging adventure
is now elongated, torturous test.
I wanna quit but suicide is overrated.
I hate killing myself and thinking of ways to do it.

I hate school.

At first you go to learn nut then they promote money and a degree.
I don't need a degree to be smart.
Why insult my intelligence?
It stresses me out to the point where I hate life.
School is ironically stupid.
I makes me wanna drink during a week day and come to class with a hangover.

I hate hangovers.

I hate myself.  I hate the people reading this poem.

I hate because I don't wanna quit.

I hate quitting.

So I keep moving.

I keep drinking.

I keep dealing with hangovers.

I keep dealing with stress.

I keep going to school.

I keep failing.

I keep doing.

They say it’s all a part of life.

So I keep living.

Something this important wouldn’t cause so much stress.

Something this important wouldn’t give so much pain.

Something this important wouldn’t be worth the poem.

Something this important wouldn’t be worth the hate.

I Hate

I hate this poem.

I haven't even finished writing it yet.
I know it'll be read and I'll have to do a revision.
I hate revising my expressions.
It makes my poems pointless.

I hate life.

I nolonger enjoy living.
Something that was once a challenging adventure
is now elongated, torturous test.
I wanna quit but suicide is overrated.
I hate killing myself and thinking of ways to do it.

I hate school.

At first you go to learn nut then they promote money and a degree.
I don't need a degree to be smart.
Why insult my intelligence?
It stresses me out to the point where I hate life.
School is ironically stupid.
I makes me wanna drink during a week day and come to class with a hangover.

I hate hangovers.

I hate myself.  I hate the people reading this poem.

I hate because I don't wanna quit.

I hate quitting.