Conflict is trauma promoting trauma Conflict is love becoming blind to one's inner beauty Conflict is wasting moments of growth Conflict is hating self, and showing others how much you hate self Conflict is aborting peace as you choose to birth evil
my voice has grown tired screaming for attention my cries falling off what seems like deaf ears. I know you hear me. I know you're in there. I shake my fists at your face, wanting so badly to hit you, so that you might notice my display. I want to grab you by the shoulders and shake you senseless, then maybe you'd hear my plea. and I wouldn't feel so helpless If you'd stop and look at me. my voice has grown tired and quite horse and still you remain quiet so I wait and I wait some more and still; I don't hear a word. so I curl up on the floor and grieve everything I have heard.
vices binding my soul; ever complying perfect obedience; never denying i'm silent no matter how terrifying i'm on the verge of tears but never crying my lungs only produce a quiet sighing i'm screaming final breaths but never dying and all the while my pain's intensifying my wings fledged and outstretched but never flying i try to speak but there's no point replying i'm done with all your endless justifying
you could've changed, but you're just never trying
the 11 syllables thing is part of the poem. you get lured into thinking it will flow nicely like an iambic pentameter, but then you reach the end of the line and you feel like you have to interrupt yourself to maintain the rhythm. that's because you do. that's how it's meant to be read. the interruption is part of the poem.
you can read this in multiple ways. either one person struggling against another, or two people arguing.