If loose lips sink ships,
why does no blame fall on the architect?
If words can crack steel with vigor and zeal,
the same way they shatter silence—
was it ever truly worthy?
What good is a house or a mansion
if it’s made of cards,
built on black aces and eights,
where love decays and vengeance waits?
And still we blame the winds,
the words, the tongues they travel on,
but never the hands from which the structure spawned.
Like blaming the fall of a king on a pawn,
or the slumber of death, on a yawn.
Maybe we were never meant to build,
only to marvel at ruins.
Maybe the cracks were prayers,
the leaks were hymns,
and every sinking ship
was just the sea reclaiming what was hers.
The world calls it tragedy.
But I call it truth.
that nothing worth keeping
fears a whisper.
That love, if real,
should not need silence to survive.
So let them talk.
Let the words rise like storms.
If the vessel breaks,
it was never seaworthy.
And if I drown,
then let me drown
with my lips unsealed.
Nov 19, 2025
Nov 19, 2025 at 4:37 PM UTC
Welcome to suicide city. Where the first nations population dies quickly. Let me be your tour guide for this deep dive about suicide through aboriginal eyes. The youth, grown up in abuse, turn to drugs or a noose. Bruised, ***** used with no escape in view. So they try to run but succumb to the world's weight and numb themselves to just live another day. At last, atlas could take a break, because our children now hold the world's weight. As the parents lay near by, needles riddled near them and beer bottles laid beside. Too weak to stand, to protect or provide, The proper care for their youth so they some coincide with disgrace as the kids stare and face what fate may lay.
Five times more than normal do native men die. Crushed by the world, by the weight of the skies. They are tough on the exterior but broken on the inside. Not taught to talk so they take their own lives.
Young women perish about 8 times quicker. With a voice of her own but no one will hear her. Abused she endures so she drowns herself in liquor. She succumbs to darkness, to the thoughts that no one would miss her.
Our suicide rates are higher than any other. Tear stricken parents burying their sons and daughters. So many are to blame but the true culprits are our mothers and fathers.
We suffer from what I call, cultural deprivation. We suffer of separation of our own. Children were forced to face colonization alone. Put into schools where our people were told. That our way of life was a lie and they're saving our souls. Only to be the harbingers of my peoples demise. They abducted our youth to save them from their "lies". Separated from their families was truly a tragedy. Those priest and nuns messed them up and never taught them to love. So they were release to the world with nothing but a shove and a shrug.
Feb 7, 2020
Feb 7, 2020 at 7:17 PM UTC