Hardship, and silence—now speaking in their own words.

This is dedicated to those sleeping rough tonight—
on cold stone, under silent skies,
with nothing but grit holding their story together.
To those who didn’t make it through.
To those who couldn’t.

To those who tried, and tried again, until trying hurt more than the pain itself.
To those who felt invisible until the world forgot they existed.
This is for those who stood at the edge—
of life, of dignity, of belonging—
and didn’t fall, but weren’t pulled back either.

This is dedicated to every voice that cracked from screaming silently.
To every heart that broke in full view of the world,
and still no one looked up.

To those who were told they’d never become anything—
that they were less.
You were never less.
You were never nothing.

You were just unseen by those who refused to care.
This is for those who threw shade,
mocked pain,
spat words like weapons,
believing your struggle made them superior.

To those who found joy in others’ despair—
you failed humanity that day.

We don’t want your spare change.
We want systemic change.
We don’t want your pity.
We want equal rights.

We don’t need your judgment.
We need your listening.
We don’t need to be pissed on—
we need water.

We don’t want thrown-away food—
we want a seat at the table.
We don’t want to be pointed at—
we want to be seen.

This page, this poetry, this platform—
is for the survivors.
For the unheard.

For the ones who keep going when the world wants them silent.
For the people society tried to discard.
For the children who didn’t choose this.
For those who became a statistic
when all they wanted was a chance.

This is your story.
This is your voice.
This is Me by Me—and it begins here.

— Cipher Noir
For the ones the world forgot.
For the silence I survived.
This is not just poetry—
it’s proof I’m still here.