Sensitive Topics

Questions the Systems Avoids

Why give a child homework with nowhere to sleep at night?
Why teach dreams on cardboard beds under flickering streetlight?
Why measure grades while hunger sharpens its knife?
Why call it failure when survival steals their time?
Why ask the homeless for hope, then lock every door tight?

Why run the same race when the starts were never the same?
Why call it merit while rigging the rules of the game?
Why praise the few who escape, then blame the rest who remain?
Why tax the poor for patience while wealth dodges the pain?
Why teach work harder in a system allergic to change?

Why build more prisons but close every school?
Why reward corruption and punish the rule?
Why flood the streets with sirens, not food?
Why call it crime when desperation is the fuel?
Why police the poor harder than the powerful few?

Why demand silence from people unheard?
Why patch broken roads, but ignore broken nerves?
Why call it amenities when dignity’s deferred?
Why fund comfort for some, while others live blurred?
Why ask for patience from lives constantly hurt?

These aren’t questions born of confusion or doubt.
They are truths we swallow, then spit back out.
We call it normal, so the bruises can hide.
We call it policy, so no one is tried.
But every unanswered why is a wound we decide.

The Departed

Before you judge the soul who fell,
They may have lived a private hell.
Perhaps they cried, but none could hear,
Or reached for help that wasn’t near—
And gone too soon, the departed.

They bore the weight of cruel disdain,
Mocked and broken, scarred by pain.
Betrayed by those they held as true,
With nothing left to cling onto—
And gone too soon, the departed.

Behind closed doors, they hid their cries,
Masked their hurt with hollow lies.
Each smile a shield, each laugh a mask,
Each moment a survival task—
And gone too soon, the departed.

They weren’t selfish, just afraid.
A fragile heart the world dismayed.
Rejected, scorned, or cast aside,
Alone they suffered, though they tried—
And gone too soon, the departed.

“You don’t belong,” the echoes said.
“You’re not enough,” was daily fed.
“You’re just a burden,” burned inside.
So dreams and self-began to die—
And gone too soon, the departed.

They traded torment for release,
A restless soul who longed for peace.
They stopped a breath to stop the ache,
One silent step for their own sake—
And gone too soon, the departed.

Tired of battles, worn and bruised,
Tired of being always used.
Tired of pleading, tired of pain,
Tired of trying all in vain—
And gone too soon, the departed.

Anxiety like wildfire spread,
While midnight whispers filled their head.
Despair became their only friend,
A loss, a wound that wouldn’t mend—
And gone too soon, the departed.

The sword of hopelessness struck deep,
The storm of loneliness struck anew
Each thought a wound, unhealed, unkind.
And the ruins of shame bled straight through—
And gone too soon, the departed.

The power of powerlessness drained their flame,
Each breath, a burden; each day the same.
They fought in silence, broke apart,
With no one there to mend their heart—
And gone too soon, the departed.