King

He has no name.

I start the story like that.
A nameless figure roaming the streets
and you have not seen him.
Because no one ever does.
No, No, No, this figure is not me,
for I stand here before you
speaking in vivid clarity.
No, I am most definitely
not him.
I shall be his voice
for his nature is of nervosity
slightly neurotic, shy
and his self-esteem bombed to the ground
napalmed, torched,
the lonely playground his silent terrain.
He is a nobody, a nothing
even though he walks as if the whole world rests on his shoulder.
He carries nothing but his own
empty pockets,
thoughts
full of nothing, too.
He is
a man of nothing.

And do we empathize?

Of course not! We yell
nor scream
as a mere look down upon his bloated self
is enough to make him feel like ten years old again.
No, again, No.
He is not a child.
He is grown up, mature as we would say
as defined more by his age than his unapparent actions.
This grown up man
roams his streets of nothing
the only thing he can imagine
to be king of.
He sits, on his throne
made of chopsticks and matches
and rules his ruly nation
of emptiness
waiting for his throne
to burn down in similar fashion
as his self-esteem,
his childhood,
him.

This king, refuses to look up
which in turn makes him
a flawed leader by default.
His empty kingdom
is probably meant to be kept
as orderly empty as possible.
And if only he had looked up,
glanced,
just once,
to give it a try.
To be that kid again
who samples a foreign food for the first time
with a quick lick of the tongue
or the pubescent boy
taking a sneak peak in the girl's dressing room
with hopeful, curious, young eyes.
But he refuses to go back
to redefine his existence
to be worthy of a crown
not made of empty cans
and promises.
The emperor roams
unnoticed still
oblivious
to all the opportunities
the chances he has
to finally stop pretending to carry something
worthwhile.
And that, my friends,
truly makes him
nothing.
Nothing, at all.

So step into that void, oh king,
of nothing
of emptiness
of solitude
of embarrassment
of fear
to actually feel
like someone worth living.
Do not fray
oh, sad humble man
for not I
nor anyone else
will try to notice you
ever ... again.