The Plight of the Meek

Today, someone else tried to crush my dreams,

“Dreams are for the privileged, not for folks without the means.”

“Stick to your job, this isn’t a world for dreamers cursed to your fate”,

“You didn’t choose your misfortune, but yet it’s not anyone else’s to take.”

The irony is that I called them to ask for assistance,

For advice on how I could do more than live for my mere subsistence.

And although they thought their intentions were well-meaning,

To a man drained of much hope, it felt like an emotional spring cleaning.

And from the recesses of my emotional reservoir,

Spoke the soft voice of defence claiming they’d gone too far,

Before being overpowered by the greater voice of Self-control inside me,

Forcing me away from retaliation or a full-scale shooting spree.

And that brings me to the question of the hour,

When does a mix of meekness and arrogance truly empower?

How do I stand up for myself when it’s easier to forgive?

And how do I add insult to injury, knowing that it’s a trauma I’d be forced to relive?

An eye for an eye and the world goes blind,

And yet vengeance craves its spot with a dirty bomb primed.

Raise your voice in defence and you’re called oppressive,

Lower your voice to a whisper and nobody’s attentive.

Arguing with your intellect invites attacks on your lack of empathy,

Using your empathy removes the need to extract a penalty.

Using the spoken word carries the burden of watching your tone,

And the written word can be used as a weapon without context on the throne.

Some of our best comebacks come to us in the shower,

While closure comes from the daydreams of a day when we would no longer cower.

Perhaps we would never find the earthly justice that we seek,

And maybe that’s the eternal plight of the meek.