There’s no painting, no poem, no note, no sound that my voice can make to express my despair.
That’s how I feel.
There’s no place to live.
No home.
Nowhere to find peace, love, freedom.
No shelter, no food, no drinks.
There’s an uncomfortable box.
And they are pushing me in it.
Mar 23
Mar 23, 2026 at 4:59 AM UTC
There’s no painting, no poem, no note, no sound that my voice can make to express my despair.
That’s how I feel.
There’s no place to live.
No home.
Nowhere to find peace, love, freedom.
No shelter, no food, no drinks.
There’s an uncomfortable box.
And they are pushing me in it.
23-03-26
Request permission to use this poem