A Beat Poem on Truth, Retaliation, and Resilience
DailySunr Poetry Desk – (Based on real events) -Written by Author Tori. V. for an anonymous
In moments when truth-telling feels like a burden and justice moves slower than pain, The Submission offers a quiet refuge. It was inspired by a victim of institutional abuse in a regulatory organization. This poem speaks to the emotional aftermath of standing up against institutional mistreatment. The cost is personal, financial, and deeply human.
Legal correspondence can be exhausting. This piece honors the silent strength of resilience. It honors those who have filed, fought, and waited. It’s for anyone who has pressed “send” on a document that carries more than just words. It conveys wounds. It showcases courage and hope.
This poem is a balm for whistleblowers. It is for advocates. It is for anyone who’s ever had to turn their suffering into a statement. You are not alone. You are not invisible. And your submission is not the end — it’s the beginning of your restoration.
I pressed send.
Not just a file.
A flare.
A fist.
A final breath of “I won’t be quiet.”
Zero pounds.
Zero truth.
Payroll said nothing,
but my body said hunger.
My fridge said silence.
My inbox said “we’ll look into it.”
But I was already inside it.
Drowning in it.
Working through it.
I raised concerns.
Invoices that didn’t add up.
Meetings that didn’t add up.
Managers who added nothing
but pressure.
I was the weak link they looped through,
until I became the whistle.
And then —
they turned down the volume
on my name.
HR watched.
Management blinked.
Emails were copied,
but no one replied.
Even the counsellor
who heard my breaking
held the silence
like a badge.
They deposited my pay —
then snatched it back.
No warning.
Just a vanished number
and a full fridge turned empty.
I couldn’t afford food,
but they could afford indifference.
I worked weekends.
Bank holidays.
Deadlines dropped like bricks
on Friday nights.
“Do what you can,” they said.
But what I did
was everything.
And they paid me
nothing.
Now I’ve submitted.
To A-CA-S.
To the law.
To the rhythm of my own truth.
This is not a resignation.
It’s a reckoning.
Let the tribunal read this
like scripture.
Let the weary find rest
in knowing they are not alone.
Let this beat
be the pulse
of the unbroken.
Daily Sunrise 