100 Poems

A dream is an obscene word,

especially for a boy like me.

The kids at school sported cool watches,

while I sat with an empty box watching

everyone else eat their lunches.

When my nights grew humid,

I looked up expecting a fan on my ceiling.

Instead I saw the stars on the sky twinkling

through the holes on my roof.

I dreamt to pick up a pen and write magic.

My parents told me writing doesn't pay and they called me

a lunatic.

I ignored their words and continued to study as 

much as I can to pursue a career in writing.

No one in society gives a damn about a kid off the streets,

because the rich kids are busy having them fall on their feet.

Most of them can't tell a story but they rule the arts.

They said I don't belong with them.

They knocked me down, took away my golden crown.

I haven't been able to sleep peacefully since then.

No one has seen me as a writer and they never will.

If you're reading this, it means I'm probably dead.

When you bury me, a 100 poems will be buried and forgotten with me.

A 100 ideas that could've changed the world will be reduced to dust.

A 100 stories that could have inspired the masses will be left untold.

I’m just one in a thousand dreams to be dashed into the dirt.

On this note I sign out of this world, 

looking for a better place among the stars.