Amidst the onslaught of festive frenzy,
Neurodivergent minds reel a tempest here to sear.
Senses assaulted, relentlessly vexed,
Christmas chaos leaves us perplexed.


Masking's breaking, taking weight, a suffocating shroud,
Authenticity lost in the neurotypical crowd.
ADHD autism's ache, an adult's disgrace,
So, invisible struggles are present in this merry place.


Pain's persistent, pounding refrain, an endless score,
Fibromyalgia's claws, forever tore.
Spine curved like a question mark,
Vertigo's dance, a dizzying arc.


Poverty's clutch cuts deep, leave plans in disarray,
Opportunities vanish, like mist in the day.
Isolation, depression, chronic cursed alone,
In a world where bonds stretch, then are gone.


Trauma mars, leaves scars, rape's brutal seal,
cPTSD's tortures - terrors forever real.
Triggers flashbacks, a minefield within,
Clock tick-tocks, the night's wearing thin.


Passivity creeps in just like a mischievous elf,
A sinister spirit keeps us captive, steals our self.
Painfully forcing out a cry, on deaf ears they fall,
"You knew they wouldn't", it sneers, "more unanswered calls".


In despair's abyss, hope's flicker dies,
As the world rejoices, behind a joyful disguise.
Countless unseen battles and unheard cries,
Anguish, desperation, pain, do naked eyes lie?


To those who feign concern, a warning rings clear,
Your platitudes and neglect, a deafening sneer.
For in the depths of despair, a reckoning brews,
When the desperate depart, with nothing to lose.


In the sombre, silent night, when alienation reigns,
The psyche buckles, under the weight of its chains.
Remember, you who turned a blind eye,
The blood on your hands as the outcast dies.


So let the silence shatter, let the truth be known,
For the neglected and broken, forever alone.
May their memory haunt, may their absence resound,
A damning indictment, of the help never found.


Silently in the night, isolation's doom looms,
For those left to rot, in desolation's tombs.
A scourge on false kindness, on empathy's dearth,
As the forgotten depart, from this merciless Earth.


A warning to those who still pretend to care,
Of the anguish hidden, behind festive despair's lair.
Family friends forsaken in desolation's night,
Cast aside, ignored as time ticks on, year's plight.


In the silent night, a dirge ascends,
For those struggling, lost at the year's end.
Society's apathy, an unpalatable bitter pill,
Washed down with tears, we fade away against our will.


Let the silence break; let the truth be told,
Of the torment endured, the agony untold.
In summer's sweat, a reckoning should rise,
Power imbalances now, no escape our fate's demise.


May our ghosts haunt the whole season bright,
Reminding us of those for whom this time's a blight.
In the season's glare, coalescing shadows reign,
Numerous reasons, curses feeding this pain.


A moment of stillness, amidst the hurricane,
A flicker of self, in the endless pain.
Battered and bruised, yet still we stand,
In defiance of a world, that refuses to understand.


Whilst it is true, many times I have tried,
But for my animals, it is on me that they rely.
As night follows day and day follows night,
Dark forces frantically fighting, stealing my fight.


Hope's a medicine, both a curse and a sure cure,
Healing if repeatedly given - the source pure.
Decidedly dangerous, deadly, dangled as a prize,
Breaking faith's wraith, soon you and society they'll despise.


A pox on ableism, on empathy's lack,
As we vanish slowly, our lives off-track.
In the silent night, our requiem it plays,
The forgotten ones, left on birthdays and holidays.

"Primum non nocere," a principle profound,

Not rigid law, but wisdom found.

In healing's halls, where choices weigh,

It guides the hand, but doesn't sway.

"ὀφελέειν ἢ μὴ βλάπτειν," a balanced plea,

"To benefit, or harm not," complexity's key.

Not black and white, but shades between,

Where modern medicine's challenges are seen.

The caduceus gleams, oft misunderstood,

While Asclepius' staff stands where healing stood.

Symbols twisted, meanings blurred,

Yet ethical practice remains undeterred.

In sterile rooms where decisions loom,

Doctors and patients dispel the gloom.

They weigh the risks, consider gain,

In partnership, to ease the pain.

Some peddle falsehoods, sweet and bright,

While truth seeks haven in the night.

But evidence-based practice stands tall,

Against deception's siren call.

"Primum nil nocere," evolving still,

Not perfection, but good faith's will.

To strive for best, while harm to shun,

In healing's never-ending run.

In research labs and by bedsides true,

Ethical minds seek what to do.

Through trials tested, with knowledge bright,

They pierce the veil of health's long night.

"To benefit, or harm not," the true decree,

A beacon burning, for all to see.

Not simple maxim, but complex art,

Where science meets the human heart.

With shared trust, respect held high,

Patient and healer together try

To chart a course through health's dark sea,

With ethics as their guiding key.

         "Primum non nocere," oft misapplied,

Not absolute, but a principle to guide.

In Hippocrates' time and modern day,

It's context and intent that hold sway.

The Greek, "ὀφελέειν ἢ μὴ βλάπτειν," rings true,

"To benefit, or at least do no harm," anew.

A nuanced approach, not black and white,

Balancing risks in healing's light.

The caduceus twined, with wings so bright,

A symbol of commerce, not healing's might.

Asclepius' staff, with serpent alone,

The true emblem of medicine, long known.

In modern clinics, where science reigns,

Ethical practice carefully maintains

A balance 'twixt benefit and potential harm,

With patient's values central to this charm.

Open communication, a cornerstone strong,

Where patient and doctor, together belong.

In shared decisions, they navigate

The complex paths that health dictate.

Some may twist ethics for selfish gain,

But true healers strive to ease pain.

With evidence-based practice as their guide,

They stand against misinformation's tide.

"To benefit, or at least do no harm," evolves still,

Not perfection, but good faith's will.

From rigorous study, and trials so keen,

True healing emerges, complex yet clean.

In healing's art, there's no guarantee,

But ethical practice sets conscience free.

With care and skill, and wisdom's light,

We navigate health's day and night.

Πρῶτον μὴ βλάπτειν, a principle misunderstood,

Not black and white, but shades of good.

Where healing's art meets science's light,

And ethical minds must choose what's right.

The caduceus gleams, a symbol misconstrued,

Where commerce and care are often viewed.

But Asclepius' staff, with single snake entwined,

Represents true healing, carefully refined.

In modern halls where choices weigh,

Doctors and patients find their way.

Through risks and benefits, they navigate,

Shared understanding they cultivate.

Some peddle cures with hollow claims,

Exploiting fears for selfish aims.

But true healers, with knowledge sound,

On evidence their practice ground.

"Primum nil nocere," a guide, not chain,

Encouraging thought in health's domain.

Balance sought 'twixt act and pause,

For healing's not without its flaws.

In research labs and by bedsides too,

Ethical minds seek what is true.

Through trials tested, their wisdom grows,

A beacon bright as knowledge flows.

ὀφελέειν ἢ μὴ βλάπτειν, the call remains,

For those who heal, not those who feign.

In partnership with those they treat,

They strive to make care more complete.

I. The Hacked Poet

Digital daggers pierce my screen,

Trust bleeds out where words had been.

Keystrokes shatter, voice hijacked,

My essence stolen, soul ransacked.

Whispers poison, wires aflame,

Bridges burn—who's left to blame?

II. The Targeted Girl

Ping! Ping! Predator's dance,

Pixels bright with false romance.

Click. Tap. Swipe. Tactics unfold,

Innocence crushed, futures sold.

Sweet nothings curdle, turn to bile,

Hope withers 'neath his toxic guile.

III. The Silenced Competitor

Where verse should soar, he lurks in shade,

Spite his ink, our light to fade.

Belittling brilliance, stealing shine,

Acid pen corrodes divine.

Art gasps for air, choked by disgrace,

Janus-masked fraud usurps our space.

IV. The "Saved" Soul

Saviour's mask, a hollow star,

"Help" leaves scars, near and far.

Self-praise echoes, spirits wilt,

Crushed beneath towers of guilt.

Puppet strings, not wings, he brings,

Rescue's ruse—how freedom stings!

V. The Witness to Lies

Death, illness feigned with glee,

Attention's void for all to see.

Tales spun from a forked tongue,

Truth and fiction come undone.

Even facts taste of deceit,

Trust now ashes at our feet.

Chorus (All Voices)

Beware the poet, serpent's pen!

Venomous verses strike again.

In webs of lies, we're spun and caught,

Our voices puppeteered, distraught.

Can you hear our silent screams?

Do you see our shattered dreams?

His falsehoods bloom, then wither fast,

But trauma's shadow long will last.

For liars gain one bitter prize:

Doubt clouds truth, trust quickly dies.

Behind each mask, our essence fades,

A cautionary tale cascades.

Urgency pulses through our veins,

Act now—before more fall in chains.

Words are weapons, shields, and balm,

Speak out to break deception's calm.

Our stories echo, raw and real,

To warn, to heal, to help reveal.