u/Quirky-Ostrich7240

I’m sick and tired of trying to get people to see my work. I wrote this poem a few months ago that was deeply personal and every time I try and get people to notice it gets ignored. I wrote it while feeling some hard things while at work, it was derived and included an anology I created a year ago that made my Therapist cry, I was really proud of it, but it’s hard to stay optimistic when every single avenue I can think of to show it to ignores me, every place even the ones that are literally designed to incentivize feedback, every discord, even specific people who have reached out from discords chose to read AI slop instead of the thing I poured my heart into and specifically told me they weren’t going to, even my own girlfriend can’t muster more than two words about it “it’s dark”, I told myself she just was n’t the audience and I needed to find the right one but how the fuck am I supposed to do that if no one ever gives it the time of day. Beneath all this my entire life I’ve lived with the personal trauma of abandonment from every single person that was supposed to stay, I try to stay positive, I try to stay optimistic, I try to push forward, but constantly being reassured that I don’t matter makes that much harder, even now the just the last text message I’ve received from anyone that’s not work related or asking for something was a month ago and it was one sentence. I’m fuckin tired man.

"Someday I’ll be free from this torment." 

It is the great lie we tell ourselves to keep our hearts beating. We crave it like water. We want to believe we can break the shackles our masters forged for us. But the truth is more bitter. This is where we begin, long before the warmth of those shimmering midnight rays ever touches our skin. They call it a dark kiss. They say the sun’s embrace is an apology for the harsh jingle of the restraints that defined our birth. I don't believe in apologies from stars. 

Dry your tears. There is no room for them here. There is a promise of a plan for your life, or so they say, but you have to dig it out of the dirt yourself. On Xenon, bondage is our heritage. It is celebrated and refined. The children learn to admire the craftsmanship of their cages before they learn to read. They compare the latest colors and the fashion of the chains they are taught to befriend. Some are even chosen by their peers for specialty additions, as if a heavier weight is a badge of honor. It is so common that the chains become invisible. Most people forget they are even wearing them. 

I remember my first assignment. I was told to sow a seed and force a tree to bloom from its roots. I sat in my assigned seat while a heavy wind scoured the table, blowing the dust into my eyes. Everyone was starting their work. Most of them looked healthy and strong. I knew I had to succeed because failure was the only thing more certain than the chains. 
Then my pot fell. It tumbled into the wind while no one looked. Or perhaps they did look and simply chose the silence of the spectator. It was hard to move. I wore a gold-plated mouth covering, a specially engraved gag that looked like jewelry to anyone standing too far away. The standard issue cuffs were already digging into the meat of my lower back. I watched the wind turn my dirt into a desert of shimmering, star-like grains. The soil became part of the coarse wood of the desk. 

I tried again. 

I tried until the salt from my tears burned the rashes on my cheeks. I found better ways to scrape the earth back together, forcing those roots to take hold in a place that wanted them dead. I had to win. I had to show the ones who ignored me and the ones who doubted me that my tree would flourish. I wanted it to tower over their manicured gardens. 

"Someday I’ll be free from this torment." 

I needed that sentence like a weapon. Was it naivety that drove me? Was it the stubborn heart of a hero or just a programmed compulsion to please the masters who owned me? I couldn't ask the questions back then. Curiosity is a useless thing when the world only hears muffled, metallic groans coming from behind a gold mask. 

The class eventually ended, but the assignment never did. I still dream about that tree. I wonder what it would look like if it reached its true potential, blossoming away from the walls of that cramped classroom. It should be freer out here, drifting among these murky balls of light that blaze in the distance. At least, that is what I tell myself. Perhaps the most terrifying thought is that I have finally become blind to my own bondage.

Sorry if the format is jarring, it’s a prose poem.
First time writing in a while also!

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/WGm4zIGs7u

https://www.reddit.com/r/OCPoetry/s/ySopUdT9Ia