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No Apology
A poem about hospital waiting rooms, rediscovering your voice, and the quiet peace that comes after surviving the storm.
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Who Gives a Crap?
Author’s note: This one wasn’t planned.It just came out—somewhere between frustration with the world and trying to hold myself together within it.There’s a line in here that’s very real, and a moment I didn’t expect to share—but it felt important to leave it in.Sometimes we carry more than people realise.And sometimes, it only takes a voice from the past to unravel everything. Who gives a crap? Who gives a crap about some orange-tinted “Master Chief”playing war like it’s Halo?Everybody – or so it seems. Who gives a crap about the ongoing battle in Ukraine,still quietly burning in the background?Nobody – the algorithm moved on.Slava Ukraine. Who gives a crap about…
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Voice
What is a voice if it can’t be heard?A whisper lost, a silent word.Heard where? At home, on stage, in halls?Or nowhere—bouncing off the walls? We hear so many voices near—Parents, siblings, those we hold dear.Grandparents’ wisdom, friends who care,But what of those in power there? Teachers, medics, those in blue—Do we listen? Do we valueWhat they say, or turn away,Ignoring words they speak each day? And what of leaders, those on high—Councillors, ministers, spinning lies?They preach of cuts, they talk of debt,Yet do they hear our voices yet? When does a voice stop being true?When words are staged, rehearsed anew.Debates, old lines, the same refrain,We’ve heard it all and…
