My mind has gone blank.
Yet I have so much to do.
A cacophony of voices critiquing  
But those helping are so few.

How could the instructions be any clearer,
Than how they were written down?
How do I get people to realise that
If they don’t stop piling on this ****, I will drown.

Nobody seems to want to talk to each other
Yet they expect me to know it all
With several teachers whose tones want to crucify me
But who’s words say I shouldn’t take the fall.

And it’s not my responsibility
To do this work for you
And really it would get finished a lot faster
If you did some of this too.

And I understand that you have lots of ideas
So, you want to change things constantly.
But do YOU understand that everything you change
Is a few more hours work for me?

I've no time to finish this poem  
Because I have to go complete another task.
So, I’ll leave a copy right here for you
And hope it helps you see through my obvious mask.

Please answer me this
Mr Pence,
Why can’t I wear a white dress?
Why can’t I claim innocence?

My mother always told me,
When I was young,
That one day I could get married  
And it would be such fun.

That if I truly loved them
We would have our special dance.
So please Mr Vice President
Why won’t you give me that chance?

My grandmother always told me
That true love was precious.
That it would pause all other emotions
Whether angry or jealous

My father always told me;
That to love was to give it all
And if they did the same
That’s how you knew to fall.

So why Mr Vice President
Can’t I give my love the world
Why don’t you want me to marry?
Is it because she’s a girl?

I would like to ask you Russos, why Tony Stark is dead?
And who the **** dropped you both on the head?

Cap needs to apologise and his found family,
Nat needs less lies and strong female company.

Thor’s depression should not be overlooked
And where the **** did Pep learn to cook?

Stop letting Fury traumatise a child,  
And for once let hope do something wild.

Stop dropping our favourite characters off cliffs
Stop saying you’ll fix it in ‘what if’.

Strange’s PTSD could not be cured by magic
And yes Clint’s story is tragic,

But that does not excuse his ****** spree.
Why aren’t more characters more like Rhodey?

Maybe try reading the comics your work should be based on
And we’ll try ignoring your obvious *******,  

For self-insert fanfiction with you as the token gay character.
Because representation doesn’t fit your parameter.

For all your stories I have one simple wish;
Stop making us cry over ******* like this.

It feels like I'm screaming into a void
Yet I know you all can hear.
I can’t figure out why you don’t respond,
Is it anger? Maybe fear?

Or is it apathy towards
A fellow human soul.
Or maybe you just think
That my tragedy has gotten old.

Two years on and I still
Feel like ****,
Still struggling on my own
To deal with it.

Two years and I could still
Cry at the drop of a hat.
But you just don’t seem ready
To deal with that.

I could not make it anymore  
Obvious if I tried;
That I've been falling apart
Since my brother died.

You told me to stop
Hiding how I feel behind a wall.
That if I spoke honestly
There would be help from you all.

I no longer even try
To hide how I feel
When you ask, my answer
Of pain Is real.

So, I'll keep talking,
And you’ll keep ignoring what I say
I'll keep talking
And I'll never be okay.

It’s not rose tinted,
Not golden hued.
The memories are barely painted by a faint yellow light.
But I was happy.

A constantly enraged state.
Your average 12-year-old girl.
There are some comments about dinosaurs I'd rather forget.
But I was happy.

Impressively impetuous teenager
Occasional spoiled brat
With a brain too old for my body and those around me.
But I was happy.

I felt all alone.
But in reality, I had you.
You with your happy, smiling annoying life.
But I was happy.

I was stressed
Confused and angry.
Filled with new emotions that I didn’t like.
But I was happy.

Now deep and painful emotions
Are imbedded into my personality.
You'd think I'd have always been this way, this sorrowful.
But I was happy.

Of course, it wasn’t perfect
Sometimes it wasn’t even good.
I used to scream about hating something I'd love to have now.
Because I was happy.

So noisy, it’s crushing
Its songs; sad ones
happy ones, silly ones.
It's jokes; fallen pens,
****** texts, Durcan’s poetry.
None of these thoughts are helpful.
Not even by a little bit.
Pastel highlighters, a new pencil case
My jacket is green.
I did the bare minimum of Spanish
I organised a previous debate’s cards
My Irish notes glare at me.
My math's teacher won't give up.
I keep all of history in my head,
But not in a place I can access.
I can give you Sinn Fein manifesto
but not the sections of Mozart’s  
23rd concerto in A major.
The room is loud, but silent in  
Comparison to my argumentative mind.
Busy, so busy.
Nothing will be done.

Cassandra,
I see you in the words  
of Greta Thunberg:
Filled with passion, warnings, truth.
Not believed.

Cassandra,
I see you in the dreams  
of Calpurnia;
warning Caesar, bloodied earth
Not believed.

Cassandra,
I see you in the protections
of Tony Stark;
made with fear, love
Not believed.

Did they tell you to smile more?
Ask you why you’ve “gotten involved”?
Did they belittle your prophecy,
Ignore warning after warning?
Ignore you?

Mad woman, hysterical.
You, angered Apollo
Or  
Was he always angry?
Did he believe himself so worthy
of your love that he cursed
not having it?
I don’t know.
You probably told someone
We know how that would have ended,

Cassandra,
I see you in the testimonies  
of Christine Blasey Ford,
so hurt, pained, strong.
Not believed.

Were you told to sit quietly, mind your place?
When you were attacked was it your body
She defended
Or
Her own desiccated image?
Maybe you told the trees of
Ajex’s sins, because even if  
the men listened,
A statue protected him from justice.

Cassandra,
I see you in the words
of impassioned protestors
so bright, so young.
Not believed.  

Maybe if you told them lies  
they'd believe the truth.
Maybe if you told the truth  
they'd believe the lies.
Believe anything you said.

Darling Cassandra
possible bride of Apollo.
definite belonging of King Agamemnon.
Did his children believe you?

Are you a warning to women?
Love who you are told to.
Bow to authority or
Never give up.

Are you a criticism of men?
Demanding of love.
Expecting subservience.
Justice not served.

Cassandra,
I see you in myself,
the pain they caused
the light going out  
I am not believed.

Cassandra,
Does it get better?
Have you received the peace you so deserve?
Or are you still  
Not believed.