Thirteen, not a king, nor a queen, still just a kid
however, a knave at heart, a villain, a rogue
if I could not be held back by kids in high school
remember, this is only a test, al-Sayyid
turn the page, this book bores holes in my frontal lobe
each day, I look back when I was three, English brogue
entitled as fuck but then we moved, how uncool
not my lot in life, the States, a giant prison
noblesse oblige, act generous, kind, span the globe
order direction in a world without vision
trapped in precision, how could I be like others
aspects of the self, the mirror in derision
kills with broken shards impermanence my brothers
institute the truth, unseen for none arisen
nothing but the sun, work neither rises nor sets
given I'm thirteen, adolescence is my king
nothing but the moon, guardian to my garden
obscene as Shakespeare in the park with no regrets
remember Yorick, memento mori, a skull
aspects of the soul, the eternal lies, I sing
queer songs, the oilsheet smelled of piss, beg your pardon
understand the flight of angels like bats at night
elegiac tunes, mourn the beautiful dead, dull
empty gestures, float across the room in a dream
no more emperors of ice cream, sorry, my queen
sycophantic youth suck on crawfish heads, I scream
transformed, a crab boil, I melt with Baudelaire's spleen
instantaneous shock to the system, my plight
like Gregor Samsa, to die alone, or unknown
like Kafka himself, my wealth invested in rhyme
just back off, buddy, I'm thirteen and in eighth grade
understand, capeesh, sheesh, who found the boy all grown
suffer the brown skin, better than with a brown nose
turbulent jet stream, my father knows, it's your dime
aspects of weather forecasts predict if his trade
killing mosquitoes is lucrative, no one knows
if insect murder bears consequences, karma
drowns, a pool of blood, ask Franz, such was his dharma
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