struggle

Desperate defiance in the dark

Desperate defiance in the dark

 

 

Voice vanishing, vaporised by virtual vitriol

Algorithms amplify absence, abandonment

Words once winged now wither, wane

Trauma's tendrils tighten, twist, torment

 

 

Silence. Deafening. Oppressive. Inescapable.

 

 

Childhood's cruel cacophony echoes, endures

Rape's raw rage resurfaces, relentless 

Abuse's ache amplifies, accumulates

Gaslighting's glare grows, guts grace

 

 

A chill wind of indifference swept through the room, leaving me shivering and unseen.

 

 

Neurodivergent narratives, now nullified 

Vestibular vertigo, vision vacillating

Fibrous fire flares, flays fragile flesh

Depression's darkness deepens, devastating

 

 

The empty chair across from me seemed to mock my solitude, 

 

its vacant seat a cruel reminder of my isolation.

 

 

Social streams shrink, shrivelling slowly

Platforms purge purpose, passion, power

Identity invalidated, invisibility impending

Self-worth withers like wilting flower

 

In silence, I found solitude; in solitude, I embraced silence

 

Yet still, soft syllables simmer, survive

Waiting, whispering: "We will rise."

For even silenced, stifled, suppressed

The soul's song softly, surely sighs

 

 

Through the hollow halls, past the empty rooms, 

 

beyond the echoing silence, 

 

a single, defiant voice dared to speak

 

 

In the depths of this suffocating silence, 

A flicker persists, refuses to die. 

Though the world may try to extinguish our light, 

We will rise, reclaim our stolen sky.

 

 

.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is perhaps, one of those "My struggle doesn't look like your struggle". 


Perhaps also, as the first person I showed this to, was unsure how to reply. Eventually they said: It is like you are bleeding straight onto the page.



They continued, keenly observing that. "People do struggle in knowing what to say. I think looking away while you’re so vulnerable is a relic of patriarchy: waiting for you to put your armour back on and get back up and keep pretending we’re all fucking fine."

UNDERNEATH IT ALL

Folder: 
Songs
Author's Notes/Comments: 

If you like the lyrics and want to hear me play it go to https://youtu.be/ql1kHFolB1c

 

Hopefully one person out there can relate to this one, and God uses it to touch their heart.

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For Lowe, P

Amidst the tempest's rage and lashing sea,

I stand, bound to the mast, chained, but free.

A vessel of dreams, once sturdy and grand,

Now sinks beneath the weight of poverty's hand.

 

 

The storm clouds gather, dark and foreboding,

Apathy's embrace, the government's loathing.

Oh, how they revel in our desperate plight,

As we drown in the depths of endless night.

 

 

The chains that bind me, etched with sorrow's ink,

A metaphor for the burdens that I think.

Struggling against the tides of destiny,

But my voice, a whisper, lost at sea.

 

 

Invisible hands, once held in trust,

Now clenched in fists, the ties of disgust.

The promises broken, illusions shattered,

Leaving wounds that bleed, unhealed, and battered.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Philip Lowe tells us we need to cut costs and work harder. The dude pulls in over a million dollars a year. He got a half-price loan from the RBA to buy his mansion. He is not self-aware of his privilege. Meanwhile, disabled me on a pension, working 6 days a week, can’t even afford to live hand to mouth. What more is one to do? Apart from topping oneself?

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Rock Bottom

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Wanted to try messing with a 5 3 5 3 pattern as well as consistantly rhyming words.

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It's Late And I Need To Go To Sleep

Folder: 
Villanelles
Author's Notes/Comments: 

This is made on the fly right before I'm going to bed. Plus, this is the first poem I'm posting on Postpoems.org . Isn't that exciting?

Don't stop (D)

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One Determined Little Spider

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