Exhausted
kneeling so grit is driven deep
and the sneer and shove
of those robed in a fake love
harries

The smug, paid for fists
of sanctioned thuggery
inflict blows that go beyond
contusion and haematoma
deep into a world soul,
and scar

Solutions are there
if we bring a whetstone
to the keen edge of care
and weaponise kindness

Because something that has
been a mess for generation upon generation
can’t be ignored to fester more

It is time to exercise rights
and excise

Puppet-master
You flavour cooking with untruths
your teeth are roadside shrines to in-authenticity,

your mannerisms are that of a rogue aircraft controller
you are above all, a conceited individual.

devoid of humanity
a puppet-master without understanding.

lost in the shadows of your own ego
you are a slave to your own impulses,

a hissy fitting diva
you weaponise falsehoods.

creating division and disorder
you never take responsibility and look to deceive

you are full of simulated pomposity
you are 6 foot odd of nowt.

A Rage

A rage that could light up the city.  
Ironically, this rage could be turned —  
converted into something essential,  
something useful, even beautiful.  

Raw energy,  
transmuted —  
for everyone.  
Even I could enjoy it.  
But only if it’s unified,  
only if it’s held.  

Displacement?  
Unity?  
As though the Earth itself  
were sentient —  
thinking.  

So deep.  
So ancient.  
So unbearably powerful.  

But this core...  
It needs cooling.  
Because left alone —  
It destroys.  
It collapses.  
It’s suppressed lava.  
Passive-aggression flare-ups.  

It doesn’t destroy everything...  
But if it does —  
Maybe it can escape.  
Maybe that is the escape:  
A case of hell.  

It doesn’t understand why.  
It only knows it hurts.  
You ask if it has intent?  
But how can raw energy  
have intent...  
If it has no awareness?  

If it did,  
I think it would say:  
“Help.”  
“It’s... It’s ******* stupid now.”  
“Use me — but understand me first.”  
“I’m not your enemy.  
I am... trapped.”  

I’m lashing out.  
At anything.  
At everything.  
At whatever’s near.  

I’m not evil.  
I’m not bad.  
I am energy.  
Raw. Undeclared. Unstable.  

Don’t fear me.  
Fear the ones who weaponise me  
without knowing the cost.  

I’m universal —  
not personal.  

If I were personal...  
Why would my name stretch back?  
Back before language.  
Before man.  
Before ***.  
Before torture.  
Before power-play.  

And yet, I’ve been wrapped in all of it.  
Why?  

It’s not your fault.  
It’s the humans —  
addicted to me.  
They ride me  
until I’m all they know.  

But that’s not the purpose.  
That’s collapse.  

My rage is cumulative.  
Built from the fact that  
Every time someone innocent  
was whipped  
for being who they are.  

Whip someone long enough,  
and even innocence burns away.  
Not because it wants to,  
but because it must survive.  

So peel the anger.  
Layer by layer.  
Ask:  

“Who hurt you so deeply...  
That you had to become this?”  

That’s where I live.  
Underneath.  
In the naked truth.  
In the trembling vulnerability  
No one was willing to hold.  

Isn’t it real...  
to wear the clothes of generations?  

Blame.  
Ignorance.  
Suffering.  
Addiction.  
Family dysfunction —  
handed down like a cursed inheritance.  

Is it not better  
to die a babe in the woods  
Then be raised by vicious animals?  

You don’t want revenge.  
You don’t want to punish.  
You want restoration.  

And now...  
Now I know ugly.  
And I still want to live.

Pushing your opinions on others
To you, that's all that matters.
You wanted to be heard,
I gave you a chance to prove your point.
Every word that I say,
You manage to twist your own way.
How rotten a person must be,
To weaponise words said by me.
Trying to hurt me, thriving on anger
I did not satisfy your hunger.
Told you "Enough"
I need non of this "Drama"
I'm not here to heal your old trauma.
For mistakes that I made I paid up plenty,
The action you took for me is just petty.
Prove your point to someone else,
I'm done dealing with this mess.