I wrote this a few years ago and can sense a similar tone of expression to my very recent posts, and a similar suffering too… Praying this would change in the coming years.
Lights are off, it’s dark
Constricted, no freedom
In a can, up on top
Not seen, with dust
Compressed with little light, up on the shelf, help me it’s tight!
One day, sometime during day or night
I don’t know, I’m confused, I lost the sense of time and sight
I had hope that someday perhaps. It might…
Squeak, the door slowly opens
Grabs it, and pulls us down
Between his sweating hands
He wets the can
And shakes it like a fan
I can’t see, but can hear
The noise that triggers fear
Opening the can, throwing us all
Hey, does he think I’m a ball?
Drip drip drip… one after another
Wait, I lost my mother
The oven is hot, I can feel it
The fire is red, I can hear it
You compress me, shake me and burn me
Wait till you see
I’ll show you the “she” in me
Slang, the popcorn, starts to jump on the man’s face. Plug, plug, plug.
On your face, criminal!