My mother told me today the fact,
That more bombs had been dropped on Gaza by the Israelis,
That the whole of world war 2
-world war 2.

When learning about the horrors of the holocaust,
The obvious question arises-
How did that happen?
How did no one help?
How did no one notice?
Is so unfortunately clear now,
People don’t care,
Somehow
I could not tell you why,
I could not begin to understand

You’d think,
We all thought,
It would never happen again,
But if it did-
The whole world would stop,
But of course, once again, it is not

While many people care,
And help as much as they can,
There too many people,
so many governments,
Who turn a blind eye-
HOW?
Are they not human?
Maybe some people don’t know,
Yet I find that hard to believe,
People would rather stay ignorant,
It’s easier I suppose,
‘Ignorance is bliss’-
Ignores them to carry on with their lives,
But what about their lives?

And these right wing news companies,
Never telling the full truth,
They’d only report about the one missile that got through to Israel by Yemen,
But never dare to mention the hundreds,
Destroying
Slaughtering
Murdering
These poor innocent people,
Children who have only just began their life-
How can people say it’s not a genocide?
When over 60 000 people have been killed

More bombs than world war 2,
And the world protects the murders,
It makes me sick
My heart will forever break for them,
I will never not think of them-
The lost,
The murdered,
They cried out for help,
They will get their justice- I pray

I can imagine in the future,
The memorials and tributes,
To remember this horrible time,
Everyone in disbelief of how it happened,
Asking the same questions we did in school,
And what good is that,
To care when it is over,
When you could not even open your eyes
- To what happening right in front of you

-JJ
04/05/25

They say “you don’t know true sadness”,
Yet how could that be true?
They have forgotten what it was ike to be a teenager,
Because at that age,
Is when you feel - everything -
The hight of all emotion-
The most intense-
Biologically it’s true,
You may have not lost or experienced like they have,
But to be at this age,
Is the ongoing battle,
Into the new uncertain world-
Figure out who you are,
Juggling through the circus that is school,
Being chucked around like a puppet by society,
While your brain is still developing

You feel it all-
The ecstatic happiness and joy,
And being dragged down to depth of your mind,
Where there is no escape,
Being taken over and drowned by anxiety and stress,
The fear of being judged by everything and everyone,
Easier for others- while harder for some
-So don’t you dare forget that everyone has struggles
Even if they try to hide them from the world

-JJ
15/04/25

If you asked me my future job,
I would say “I’m not sure”,
But if asked me my dream job,
I would say - music
Singing,
Song writing,
To be in a band,
Though I know it is unrealistic and it may always stay as just that- a dream

But to touch people souls,
-Their hearts
Like music does to me ,
To make them feel every word-
Every note-
To be changed just in that moment
For there worries to melt away-
Escape from the world,
Or reveal the worlds beauty-
Taken away in a boat through stream of melodies,
- My melodies

-JJ
18/04/25

I’ve got
seven songs
on repeat.

They don’t ask me to talk.
They don’t tell me to cheer up.
They just play,
quietly,
loudly,
however I need them.

Vestige
whispers
like a ghost I once knew,
soft, aching—
it holds my breath in its careful hands
and never asks
why I’m fading.

Caramel drips down
slow and sweet,
like it knows my ribs
are tired of holding it all in.
It doesn’t try to fix me—
it just sits,
a quiet sadness
that understands.

When The Sun Sleeps
doesn’t sleep at all—
it screams,
loud, raw, honest.
It bleeds the things I buried
and somehow,
that noise feels more like home
than silence ever did.

Overflow crashes like a wave
right when I thought I was dry.
It drowns me—
but gently,
like rage that remembers
I’m still human.

To The Flowers
sounds like falling apart
and finally letting go.
It’s heavy,
but blooms in the dark,
grief growing
into something real.

Nero Forte fights for me
when I’m too tired to fight myself.
It’s chaos—pure,
relentless—
a storm I can scream into
and still
walk out of.

When It Rains
makes me feel fifteen and fragile,
but soft enough
to remind me
I’m not wrong
for feeling everything
too much.

These seven songs don’t save me.
They don’t have to.
They just stay—
and some nights,
that’s the only thing
that keeps me here.

Some people laugh,
but they’re hurting inside.
They say, “I’m fine,”
with tears they hide.
So always be gentle,
you never quite know,
who’s faking the light
while feeling the low.