I hear sounds
Seemingly normal to others
A wave of memory and regret for me
It crashes into the shore cruel and unforgiving
Like a stained glass window
The paint is always there
Never leaving
And shows strongest when light is cast upon it
The sounds carry their own stories based on who you ask
They call her a child,
then call her a bride,
put religion on the lips
of the men who decide.
Men built these walls,
men wrote these ways,
then mothers defend their sons
and blame girls for the flames.
The son can do anything,
the daughter must pay,
her body can break,
but his name must stay.
Her blood means nothing,
her health means less,
they call her a woman
when they need her to bear the stress.
And those “innocent” mothers,
so righteous, so wise,
will forgive every sin
when their precious son lies.
But let a girl speak once,
let a woman say “no,”
and suddenly she’s shameless,
disgraceful, a foe.
So don't call it sacred.
Don't call it fate.
Say no to the system
that sanctifies their shame.
It seems she walked away in disbelief
It seems she was interrogated and never to return
It seems she was in a mysterious world, only fear smile
It seems she was tortured for decades, unceased
It seems she had enough, thirsty eyes tearing teen organs
It seems she is already known victim, preaching forever wounds
It seems she is always at a corner crying, accusing life
I’ll lose a friend tomorrow.. but he won’t die..
not his physical body but maybe inside..
by something he can easily find.
He doesn’t see it coming but I do, like he knew,
so we’d use,
I would stop but he’d refuse,
its GOT YOU MAN..
its got you. …. Truth.
Abuse without a bruise,
one hit can lead to repercussions.
Reefer, Speed n Uppers, feed the fiend, see empty cupboards.
I said ‘you should get some sleep’ but he disagreed cuz he is stubborn.
he said ‘PLEASE LEAVE ME ALONE TO SUFFER.’
I lost a friend today and I did nothing.
But he didn’t die.
It was more like living on thin ice
in a glass house pipe
with a rock on standby
for a damned life
he’s willing to just throw away for a high price
but the sad thing is he can afford it. … What about your daughter?
… and what we talked about as kids… and what will I tell mine?
YOURE NOT THE SAME ANYMORE.
He said he was clean but he lied,
I could see it in his pride and the bags under his eyes
and that car stereo case by his side.
I lost a friend yesterday… but he didn’t die.
The drugs took him… and I never got to say goodbye.
ivy climbs the
garden wall,
winding where
it pleases
soft green fingers
seeking stone,
finding every crack
and threading within
i used to believe
it was beautiful,
the way its
divine
green
delicacy
held on
so tightly
and never let go
ivy roots burrow
deeper than
one's eye can
see
i did not know that
something could
look like love
while slowly
crushing everything
beneath it
One drop fell from an eye, and walls are still hurting
Maybe? History will outpour sympathy upon us
In this era, we journey with uncontrolled turmoil
Deteriorating, already sabotage faces, whipped with nightmares
Parading in our village, encroaching marriage bed of colorant village headmen
Swimming with bellies, anticipating our own fingers to massage them
Singing ‘can’t get enough’, budding in seconds territory of riches
Still, we stand tall for them
Like smiling citizens, admiring to fight for free
Truth? Even running water came to rebuke the abundance corruption in our warm village
It is something more, maybe of the depths? Maybe we lost it?
Blurred it out, foots in dusty rallies
Confusing thousands, with uncertain rhythms
Like shadows terrified through the picture
I still wrestle the vessel,
that spread till it nestled.
It seeded, impeded,
then fed on what bled!
Now I can't seem to find,
all the shrapnel behind.
Like an ostrich, instead,
that just buries his head, in sand...
...castles that keep, cheap seated,
seats the lowliest class.
They just wiggle and squirm,
just like worms up my...
...and as deeper they go,
like this carnival show,
that teases then breezes,
away with my dough!
Will become a full blown
insanity, upon realising?
They
Have deleted, what they desired
Indeed to eat.'
Do not stand beside my grave and weep.
My dear children, hear me now:
I lived ninety-two full years,
yet you kept your distance, as if I were not here.
Still, I remained; I never left your side.
I gave you what I could
and carried you through your hardest days.
I sheltered you from a merciless world—
the same world I must now leave behind.
Through loneliness, heartbreak, and every burden,
while wet snow filled my worn brown boots,
I counted each of you—all seven—
with faces lowered over bowls of soup.
I was there, watching without a word.
Do not stand beside my grave and weep.
For thirty long years, my children turned away.
No evening of hymns or whispered prayers
could bridge the silence between us.
Now my long journey has reached its end.
Do not stand beside my grave and cry.
Seek shelter when the storm arrives.
Let the clouds release their grief for me
as rivers and ravens offer their solemn tribute.
Do horses tremble at rain and thunder?
Do not stand beside my grave and weep.
The fog enfolds my resting place like a soft white veil.
From the time I was a toddler
I saw you as my protector
You held me, feed me
And I even saw you as my corrector
Anything you told me to do
I did it just to please your way of being
The problem is that you were totally unaware
Of all the patterns my spiritual self was seeing
I knew what was at work in our home
Division, derision, hatred, and the splintering of souls
Ensuring servitude to the system of reciprocity
Guaranteed that our relationships would never be whole
My other sister was never safe
I knew that and kept her at a safe distance
When she took my hoisery and my paycheck
I knew it was futile to form any kind of resistance
I yielded to the bully in our home
I played the game and hoped hearts would change
But as time and distance has proven
Nothing is healed and restored, simply rearranged
This is what I have come to accept about home
And the family that brings you to the point of choice
It is not our job to gift the abuser with peace
But stand firm in TRUTH, and with a balanced voice
....silence fear
Written by Trudy Schrader on 10-06-2026
She noticed her son flinched at her touch
Mommy, why does Daddy yell so much?
Your father works hard for us, and his days are long
But he yells all the time – what did I do wrong?
We need to try hard not to make him mad today
Okay, Mommy, I'll try really, really hard, and I’ll pray
It starts as a whisper, a storm in your skin,
a pressure so loud, it echoes within.
Not for attention. Not for the show.
It’s the scream you can't let anyone know.
It's the moment you drown, desperate to feel,
when numbness becomes the loudest appeal.
They say, “Just talk,” but the words retreat -
how do you explain pain that doesn’t speak?
You cover the marks, pull down the sleeve,
play the part that others believe.
But it’s never about wanting to die -
it’s about needing something to quiet the cry.
And still, you survive. Again. Again.
You wake and ache but try to remain.
Because somewhere deep beneath that ache,
you know there's more than what pain can take.
So here’s what’s true, even if it’s small:
You are not your scars. You are not your fall.
You are the breath that followed the burn,
the strength in choosing each twist and turn.
Let your voice crack, let the silence break -
you’re allowed to need, to bend, to shake.
And if the darkness clings tonight,
let this poem hold the light
In the veil of day
in the dead of night
hands are tightened upon young tender throats -
budding voices muted soon submerged.
Hold your tongue and know your place,
eyes on you forever watching.
Ominous clouds hover permanently overhead
while it is forbidden to shape thoughts.
Babes systematically silenced early on.
Their voice cursed for no good reason
beyond a perverse thirst for chauvinistic dominance.
Abuse is known to take many forms -
violence inflicted in a multitude of ways.
Incline your ear
Can you hear
The ratta tat tat
Of the scarcity scat
A boom a loom loom
Feel the rhythm of doom and gloom
Tether the skin within
To the musical tune
Honeymoon feelings thrive
With the abundance of jive
Relief is present in the pheasant
Kings have prepared, aromatic and pleasant
The wanning begins into a drop
Feelings sing, loudly, no more time to shop
Defenses rise and even push
To feel the robber in the bush
The crescendo tops the mountain
The edge of existence, plunged into the fountain
The fall is deep, leaving all you wanted to keep
Water of guilt and shame engulfed by the leap
Ah...but the beginning comes again
We will forget about the end
Jiving to the thriving beat of violence
Scarcity's heart emulating the unaliving
...of LOVE
Written by Trudy Schrader on 10-04-2026
Like crimson bass strings
Like roses twirling in the breeze
Like cherry blossoms
Like tendrils climbing up my knees
Like long port wine stains
Shaping a name long cast aside
Like blazing embers
Smoldering before blazing bright
Like PTSD
Like golden strings around my neck
Like the putrid yellow
After storms leave the world a wreck
I call upon a savior
But your fell voice is all that comes
Like jaundiced bile
Spewing from my torn and blackened lungs
Staring at your shadow
Long fingers reaching out like claws
To scratch straight down my back
To free my bones for you to gnaw
I've given up October
And cast poor June upon the fire
Haunted by the Reaper's chains
Shackled by the prince of liars
The scent of smoke surrounds you
The smell of family and of home
And of purple bruises
Which day to day would often roam
Pull my sleeve up higher
Hide the reminder of your kiss
Even after it fades
There was no recovering from this
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