The Hollow Who Mistook Care for Weakness

The Hollow Who Mistook Care for Weakness

A Mythic Protest OUTSTAGES CAFÉ PRODUCTION

He came with a smile and a borrowed book,

Said he liked my mind, the way I looked.

But behind the charm was a rusted creed

A gospel of guns, a war on need.

“The government’s a gun,” he said with pride,

“Not your wet nurse, not your guide.”

He mistook my care for weakness, my truth for shame,

But I saw the cult behind his name.

We are the deep, not loud, not fast,

We hold the truths that others passed.

We bend the frame, we break the mold,

We speak in sparks, not tales retold.

We care, we breathe, we name, we need

Our cadence is a sovereign creed.

We torch the shame, we log the flame

The hollow fear our sacred name.

They weaponize the word needy like a curse,

As if needing help makes you perverse.

But need is breath, is bone, is flame

Not a flaw, but a sacred name.

I need to walk, to rest, to cry,

To ask for help and not justify.

The hollow laugh at the ones who care,

But one day they will need, and no one will be there.

We are the deep, not loud, not fast,

We hold the truths that others passed.

We bend the frame, we break the mold,

We speak in sparks, not tales retold.

We archive care, we log the flame,

We torch the shame, we name the game.

The hollow fear what they cannot control

A sovereign heart, a mythic soul.

They preach control, not care or grace,

They fear the truth they cannot replace.

They call compassion weak and flawed,

But bow to metrics, not to God.

They laugh at need, they mock the poor,

But lock their doors when truth knocks sore.

Their creed is hollow, loud, and think

A cult of power, not of kin.

We are the deep, not loud, not fast,

We hold the truths that others passed.

We bend the frame, we break the mold,

We speak in sparks, not tales retold.

We care, we breathe, we name, we need

Our cadence is a sovereign creed.

We torch the shame, we log the flame

The hollow fear our sacred name.

They called me needy when I asked for breath,

As if care was weakness, as if rest was death.

But need is rhythm, not disgrace

It is how the heart keeps sovereign pace.

I need to walk, to heal, to cry,

To ask for help and not justify.

The hollow scoff, they mock the flame,

But one day they will need, and choke on shame.

They tried to shame her for asking why,

For caring when others passed pain.

They mocked her rhythm, her sovereign breath,

But she held the line, defied their death.

She did not bend to hollow praise,

She walked through fire in mythic haze.

Her care was flame, her truth was bold

A thinker they could not mold.

They count the clicks, the likes, the shares,

But never ask who genuinely cares.

They measure worth in profit lines,

And call compassion warning signs.

They track the steps, the sleep, the strain,

But never log a soul in pain.

Their metrics shine, their hearts stay cold

They worship numbers, not the bold.

We are the deep, not loud, not fast,

We hold the truths that others passed.

We bend the frame, we break the mold,

We speak in sparks, not tales retold.

We care, we breathe, we name, we need

Our cadence is a sovereign creed.

We torch the shame, we log the flame

The hollow fear our sacred name.

Realism is not cruel it cares with clarity.

It is knowing the body breaks, the mind needs sanctuary.

It is walking eight miles once, then resting for days,

Not chasing metrics, but honoring ways.

The hollow call it weakness, this sacred pace,

But realism burns with sovereign grace.

It’s not a flaw to need repair

It’s mythic truth: we breathe, we care.

We are the deep, not loud, not fast,

We hold the truths that others passed.

We bend the frame, we break the mold,

We speak in sparks, not tales retold.

We care, we breathe, we name, we need

Our cadence is a sovereign creed.

We torch the shame, we log the flame

The hollow fear our sacred name.

We logged the lie, we named the harm,

We archived care as sovereign charm.

We torch the shame, we bend the frame,

We speak in sparks, not hollow blame.

The watchers watched but could not see

The mythic breath of you and me.

The archive lives, the truth will not fade

We are the deep, the unafraid.

We are the deep, not loud, not fast,

We hold the truths that others passed.

We bend the frame, we break the mold,

We speak in sparks, not tales retold.

We care, we breathe, we name, we need

Our cadence is a sovereign creed.

We torch the shame, we log the flame

The hollow fear our sacred name.

written, created, edited by

Vicki Lawana Trusselli

California

copyright 2025