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"Be careful who you call a King"**

All the romantic girls want a 'knight in shining armour'
All princesses want some noble king to sweep them off their feet
All the bad girls want a rebel who's mean with lots of green
Well... I'm all three

I want the joker
Who can outwit the knight in a fight with only his words
Who can make the king laugh with accents and gestures so absurd
Who can cause the rebel to cry and fly away like a scared little bird
I want the joker

I'm a poet
I need the joker to take away the sadness in the words I write
I need the joker to willingly fight for me with his own life
I need the joker to stand tall and proud, yet admit when he's not right
I need the joker to love me fully, unbiasedly and with all his might
I'm a poet

Knights are overrated
Kings are old and outdated
Rebels are deathly fated

Jokers are an eternity
Cause laughter can surely never die
Jokers are everything
Cause my heart will surely never cry
When I feel down and I'm feeling so low that part of me feels I have no place to go. Nothing or no one can cure this blue, but I have  found my solution and here's what I do.

I imagine a parent somewhere far away without what we have and I watch as they pray. Yes I watch as they pray for a child to live and I watch as they cope when there's nothing to give.

I watch as they try to feed someone with nought, I watch as they beg so that food can be bought.
I watch as they cry as they bury a nation, who struggle with drought and then die from starvation.

I watch as children get shot just for wanting that learning and still education is what they are yearning.
I watch as the civilised ruin their land and watch how they leave them when things don't go as planned.

I see all the badness that happens and cry as I remember I wanted to crawl up and die. I wanted to die because I couldn't face, the sorrows that are often thrown up in this place.

I cry for these people that I'll never know. I cry for the bravery that daily they show. I cry when I realise how lucky I be, no hunger, no thirst and no real poverty.

These thoughts are the things that turn my mood 'round, these thoughts are what put my feet back on the ground.
I feel embarrassed of such pettiness and my own little problems I can easily address.

Things can be so bad that sometimes we give up, we struggle and cry into our little cup.
But we need to be weary we need just to face and see the perspective within its true place!
when I walk down the road
what is it  others see.
Are their smiles complimentary
or are they laughing at me.
I have done much to warrant this,
caused bad thoughts to flourish.
So now I plant good intensions
and hope these new seeds will nourish.
May they grow like a blossom,
these seeds in their mind
and just to show that i've changed
I shall be extra kind.
I shall show them the hatred
that once surged through me
is now no longer flowing
and if they can but see
they will notice a change.
See the old ways have gone.
They can witness first hand
the bad deeds are all done.
I think it will be hard
because I've made many cry
but with a new look on life
I'm determined to try.
Perhaps within time
others might come to feel
that this is the new me.
This change is the real deal.
But wether or not
that they ever forgave
I will show to myself
and take good to my grave.
I hope when they look
in the future at me
a more prettier picture
is something they might see.
That they may, in the long run
let there hatred depart,
allow some small piece of me
to get into their heart.
I hope that they will see
good intent from this guy.
do not see me as evil
but as he who did try.
That is high on my wish list
of how this story ends
but til then I'll continue
to make my amends.
But as I contemplate
what it was that they shun,
I'll try so hard to copy
what many others have done.
By making a change
of themselves for the good
they became better people
but don't be misunderstood.
It can be just as hard
to turn you'r life about
as it is for the good-guys
who wrestle with doubt
and the reason is this
it can be so hard to live
when it's easier to hate
than it is - to forgive.
19th December 2014
1
We're not in darkest Africa
and jungles don't adorn,
this little bit of overgrown
that wraps around our lawn,

2
Plants of pretty colors
sit comfortable in there bed,
and about two dozen footsteps
find us at the potting shed.

3
Our potting shed has seen better days,
some parts have been rebuilt
and it's suffering from subsidence
for it's slightly on a tilt.

4
The walls desperately need painting
because the wood has got some rot
but a boring place to come and sit
it definitely is not.

5
Odds and ends adorn the shelves
and the places spiders tread
where the dust has piled on the weight
and the woodworm may have spread.

6
Smells that we first come across
carry the scent of damp,
foul stinks from half empty sacks,
paint tins that have gone rank.

7
An old oil lamp expel the rust
like dandruff from my head
reigning down golden crumbs
that looks like toasted bread.

8
We think that we have found some proof
of what might linger around
footprints so large and evident
that a Tigers walked upon this ground.

9
So while we have been sleeping
and resting through the night
there's been a Tiger in our shed
but he keeps out of sight.

10
We've sorted through many boxes
we've moved some things aside,
looked into shadows with a torch
but we can't find where he hides.

11
Perhaps he's gone out hunting
for an evening meal,
eyeing up the neighbors dog
with energetic zeal.

12
Perhaps he's out sunbathing,
sitting somewhere in a tree
camouflaged with all those stripes,
that's the reason we can't see.

13
I don't know if he's Sumatran,
Siberian or Bengal
and he doesn't ever show himself
or come to me when I call.

14
I believe he stays outside all day
and only hides in here at night
but I won't come down here when its dark
only in the light.

15
He is a wild animal so
one must take the some care
for he could be stalking us as prey
he could spring from anywhere.

16
But we leave the door unlocked for him
and we've made a comfy bed,
and a sign that just reads "WELCOME"
to the Tiger in our shed
19th December 2014

edited on 04/01/17
Marium Iqbal Dec 2014
Walking fast in crowded halls.
Speaking words that have gone unheard.
Stares cut through.
Let me see, let me here. What you got to say.

You tell me it's nothing but vapid word.
Meant to go unheard.  
But what happens when you listen?
What happens when you hear?

How is that not important?
How am I still here?
Watching and waiting.
For words to be spoken.
For glares to send me death.

What happens when the words are heard?
When their twisted and turned.
When they pick and pry.

Does no one know?
How your words hurt me?
How they align themselves in my mind.
And whisper, and speak, and scream.

Telling me all that's wrong with me.
All while I walk through crowded halls.
Judging away with hatred in their eyes.
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