And it was really because of a song lyric I needed a username and I found one in the cereal It didn’t become my favorite until afterwards But it grew in the awareness that things are happening that shouldn’t be The stale box of them under my bed I can only eat when no one is watching Because we don’t eat outside of meals at my house We just go hungry And being king of something every time I try to express an opinion helps In a way like sunshine on the bus ride home ‘Cause for once rehearsal doesn’t mean you ride home with your parents Icy silence is nobody’s preference And laughing about going hungry gets easier when you’re king of some kind of food My feet pound against the pavement Because kings have to travel sometime 6th grade final project I had to build a board about me Trinkets about how I’m left-handed and the things that inspired me Meant to be replaced as I aged The last thing I had added to it was the “Corn Flake” cereal label and a small yellow crown And spontaneously Slowly removing the pictures and labels I destroyed it without even trying Because a cornflake king abandons the past to discover a future where he is allowed to eat whenever he pleases Where expectations are lowered often And sometimes it’s okay to have your own opinion Because anyone knows the king makes the rules based on his beliefs Not those of anyone older
does anyone know how to speak in their own home without being screamed at because i haven’t figured it out yet
i built an empire on my back and it grew like a staircase up my spin. hunched over from the weight, i crawled on my knees until they were scraped and bloodied, my wounds reopening amidst the battle. "victory stands on the back of sacrifice," so i crawl because i am still moving. and when my body breaks under the strain of the new world order i will collapse, but it will not be in vain.
Dumb Streets stroll along with brains of blitz to an evening ritual of bathing with blood where young smiles melt away and tears dry out, guilty die and so do the ones who dare to doubt, audience calls it the crowned fool’s supper but our fool names it ‘Blooming of the Juniper’.
Dumb Streets poke their pride with ***** knives, scoop their brains out for the queen of beehives and surrender their soul for a single penny which leads them to a war-zone surrounded by jinni. The poor souls mustn’t retreat to the fool, who’d treat them as his supper or a war-tool.
Dumb Streets fed-up, riot with sullen spirits, they burn bridges and **** the fool’s puppets. The supper gets heavy as the days go by, our fool feasts on rioters who’ve sworn to die. Soon the puppets disappear into thin air and leave the palace for rioters to spare.
Dumb streets have our fool as their supper, sink their shelters with wine and clutter, but fail to notice uprising of another fool who’d played leader of fish in the pool. Shower mercy O! wise Fool upon your streets, preach the dumb, who wonder what he eats.