As I sit here, a thorn in a field of roses
I wonder worriedly when this suffering will end.
I don't belong here, in this catastrophe of conversations I have no interest in.
I wait for the sound of that golden angel to sing
And release me from these wooden locks that hold me back.
I cannot continue to waste my attention on lessons about wars,
no longer can I listen to the painful screeches of my dictator
Who stands before me, like a lion spying on it's prey.
She takes joy in watching us cry out like broke souls,
sitting behind her desk, feet in the air.
I sit silently, speaking my mind internally.
Those that surround me howl with delight.
Hyenas that take pleasure in my misery.
I am breaking, cracking like glass under the heat,
there is not much more of this torture that I can endure.
No more of this pain will I take
I won't!
To give in to their games would be too easy.
They can continue to mock me like the clowns they are
While I sit and wait for the final horn to sound.
***
I reaaaallly hope you enjoyed that one. This is one of the few poems I am actually honestly extremely proud of. I did this for an English assingment and I really enjoyed writing it. Comment your thoughts if you enjoyed or not! Au revoir!