#Downtrodden

[theveryworstthing]

this generation's Biggest Owl.

[aiartwerk]

Forsakenness explores the profound emotional weight of isolation. These figures—Hopelessness, Abandonment, Downtrodden, and Despair—reflect the heaviness of being left behind and emotionally disconnected. Each image offers a glimpse into vulnerability, encouraging empathy and care in the face of emotional exhaustion.

If you are feeling lost, abandoned, or without hope, reach out to someone you trust or seek professional help. You don’t have to bear this alone—support is within reach, and you matter.

[soapdispensersalesman]

Post-work breakdown portrait

Man what a day, I wrote an entire detailed rant/vent, but figured I shouldn't publicise all that stuff online, even when one can barely access my Tumblr as I haven't really publicly shared it in my circles.

Anyways, I did an awful lot of stuff at work today and have another shift tomorrow. Honestly, it bugs me because this place where I work is w very special place dear to my heart that feels like a second home, but each shift I'm working here and indirectly feels like I'm not "welcome" here.

I know I am, I just don't like how people constantly assume I never understand stuff and always "correct" me on anything before I've even had the chance to say or do anything. It's a job that runs on communication and working together but I always feel like I'm lacking any form of autonomity at work within those teamworks. I also find it difficult to deal with conflict and stuff because I'm afraid how my emotions handle it.

Perchance I should consider talking to the confidential person (or how you say that in English, not HR but someone you can talk to when you're dealing with something"

Smh how do I convert any of these emotions to music or poetry :/

[the-ephemeral-ethereal]

It is better to be downcast through knowing the truth than cheerful because one believes a falsehood.

Princess Elisabeth of Bohemia in a letter to René Descartes written on 28 October 1645

[damn-this-transgirl-hella-gay]

Tumblr Story Time - The Robots and The Downtrodden: story by @artificial-lifeform-imitation based on prompt by @writing-prompt-s

[howifeltabouthim]

I have seen her . . . come away from your reproaches with the tears in her eyes, and her hands meekly clasped upon her bosom, as though life was heavy to bear.

Ellen Wood, from East Lynne

[lettersfromgod]

"The Power of My Love"

How long shall the multitudes swear by things made, and place their trust in the works of man?! For the desolate know not the things of God, nor is darkness able to understand; yea, the wicked gnash upon their teeth, the whole body convulses in the wake of mourning, for there is no rest.

Yet My hand caresses the cheeks of the hopeless, As we watch the dawning of the day together…

For the strength of My arm uplifts the downtrodden, My strong embrace heals the sorrowful, Every beat of My heart revives the dead, And the sound of My voice frees every captive…

Behold, the power of My love hides them away!…

Says The Lord.

📖 Source: https://www.thevolumesoftruth.com/Words_To_Live_By:_Part_Two

▶ Video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mmbMCsSpUcY&list=PLE8FlkxQPQkPHgZ2CISXAJx3vpxyJ9MCr&index=23

[finalbrickasy]

Day 4, and today's topic is: Your favorite song!

Mine is "Downtrodden" by Abney Park.

[sogoodcontent]

I never believed Moravia really wanted to die (and he would express the wish in an offhand tone, as if saying “I could use a cigarette”); but I did believe he was bored, and boredom—like idleness, its sister vice—was something he disliked, even feared. Talk dispelled that fear, and for the rest of our afternoon there would be no mention of dying, not of his dying, at least.

— William Weaver, introduction to Boredom by Alberto Moravia

[theveryworstthing]

two midwives show off their searchlight tattoos.

searchlight designs vary between families, communities, and specialties but always incorporate sky themes like suns, moon, clouds, stars, flying insects, ect. thinking about the context of a design can tell you a lot about the rabbit it's on.

tattoos and dyework, especially if they're ritualistic or emotionally significant, are usually touched up every 5 years or so if they're the kind that are meant to last. the pigments used for these tattoos not only color the skin but bleach and/or color the fur for years afterwards so everything shows up nicely. midwives and doctors keep the fur on their arms very short for hygiene purposes so any designs there are especially clear on them.

dirt and blood don't stain this treated skin/fur easily, so it's common to see pale rabbits with the tell tale signs of being up to their elbows in viscera often decorated with markings so bright white that they almost seem to glow. it's either very cool or very unsettling depending on who you are.

[anitatad]

Downtrodden... #Poetry #TheSundayWhirl #Wordle 650

Downtrodden My memory is hit-and-miss It flies in and out like many broken twigs on the forest floor As I sit beneath a willow tree I wonder where the divine is, in the pattern of my life I think He gave me the leftovers and then washed His hands I feel the blood of my ancestors flow through my veins They have no voice to guide me I have no crystal clear thoughts As to where my life…

[thequeencriesdiamonds]

I’m a teacher, a priestess, and a spiritual guide,

But under my armour I’m dying inside.

My cup has been empty,

For many’s the year,

My inner child weeps silently,

Sobs drowning in a cesspool of fear.

There’s a gaping spiritual wound,

in the Center of my being,

Like I’m missing an integral part,

That when found will be instantly freeing.

The agonizing emptyness that has overtaken my heart,

Is an acid bath on an atomic level,

And it’s ripping me apart.

Cosmic nothingness drowns me,

And greedily swallows me whole,

I stand screaming into the cosmos,

Begging tirelessly for my soul.

Bottoms up bourbon bottles,

Long necks strangled at my hand,

I have no coin to pay the boatman,

So there will be no promise land.

I call down the great mother,

And wait on the crossroad’s stone,

But there is only a void of silence,

So I decay down to my bones.

My weary joints have held the weight of the world,

So long I’ve walked this road alone,

I was sent off without a map into darkness,

Is my destination my doom, or is it my home?

The queen cries celestial diamonds,

They rain down like artic hail,

I don’t know what my mission was in this life ,

But whatever it was I have failed.

“I am nobody, who are you? Are you, nobody too?”

I am a forlorn ghost of a gone girl,

A sacrificial lamb to be sent out to slaughter,

I failed to be loved or become a mother,

And was born a deeply unwanted daughter.

Mother mother, mommy dearest,

Do you see me? Can you hear?

You were right, I am disgusting and worthless,

And soon I shall fall upon my spear.

[smellofextraordinarydesire-blog]

The passage describes the despair of an elderly man walking in the rain between 1949 and 1951. This results in a nonsensical, ramshackle, role model-friendly drowsiness that reflects the man's state of mind and feelings. These feelings may later become pensive for a generation of writers who contemplate the nihilistic world. The man walks and feels similar to a modern or even futuristic man. He preserves his image throughout his life, including thoughts, discoveries, and unique consciousness.

Many original conscious writers also preserve their own images, with their discoveries, darks, and dawns. When faced with a unique entity, they satisfy themselves with a bottle of hundred-year-old wine or a compressed segment of opium. Years ahead of this rare happening, people who preserve their darkness levels to improve and grow are rare and valuable. This idea helps maintain self-image and avoids rapid changes based on societal changes, such as current technological trends that turn people into mechanical superficial beings without a chance to cherish despair or get drowned in champagne.

These ideas propose forms and the enjoyment of moments of despair to create an original label for what one possesses. Most people lose their emerald because the modern world turns them into machines. It's not always about censorship; it's about blending. When blending becomes pop culture, originality gradually fades away. Drinking mature drops of cave-old wine makes storytelling interesting. Masterclasses focus on a copy culture, creating an image discovered in the mind based on instinctive winds. Once found, it's time to hold it tight, extend the feelings and stories beyond it, and make it memorable.

Self-care is crucial, preserving the innermost feelings that were once a signature and may be forgotten but will be reincarnated when rediscovered. Throughout my adolescent life, I enjoyed preserving this unique opioid image of literature and love. I immersed myself in it, tearing many papers, feeling many wrinkles, and investing a lot of effort to make it as mature, poetic, sexual, critical, and romantic as possible. This feeling comes from a deep poetic speech of a one-night love, never experienced or told.

It's as peculiar, drowsy, and peaceful as it could be. This feeling is powerful and old, possibly originating from the deep poetic speech of a one-night love. That idealist individual who found curiosity between lines and tears could make it poetic. However, those wrinkly outcries and shouts created a deep hole through my soul. I recall how it seemed like a never-getting-old trick to turn the feeling and image into a verbose text. It may not propose a form awarded by academies, but it fixes most of life's stories, reopens hearts, brings hearts closer, and offers genuine generosity.

Being an idealist and an image preserver, even during dark phases, are two different things. In my neighborhood, I swore to my loneliness that there were people so close to me who admired me but had no chance to discover these feelings. It was familiar to them what I wanted to propose, and it was too familiar for them to get connected. However, loneliness is a cave out of people, and if people happen, it turns to memory. If it turns to memory, it becomes a passing phase and fades away. It becomes part of growth, which they call adaptability to the world outside the wall. Outside the opiums of words, forms, and poetic enjoyments of once-original feelings, now devoted to mechanical machines and crazy mindsets. #loneliness #writers #downtrodden #delirium

[soapdispensersalesman]

downtrodden

[larrythedmguy]

Discover a Unique Paladin Subclass for D&D 5e - The Downtrodden Paladin!

Paladins are known for their unwavering honesty and kindness, but some venture into the mysterious underworld. Explore the intriguing Downtrodden Paladin, a homebrew subclass that grants paladins access to the secrets of the underworld in Dungeons and Dragons 5e. Click the link to learn more about this fascinating subclass!