On Surviving Broken Systems

“The Cracks I Crawled Through”
Silverstein Mode, activated.

I once got stuck in a system so wide,
They said, “Take a number,” and I just cried.
They stamped my file and frowned real deep—
Then told me to wait... and wait... and sleep.

They told me my voice was a little too loud,
My shoes too dusty, my thoughts too proud.
They said, “Just follow,” but gave no trail,
Just rules on rules and a check that failed.

They handed me pamphlets too dense to read,
A hotline for hunger, a quiz for need.
They offered a plan with a forty-year wait—
And a letter that said, “Oops, file came in late.”

So I built me a ladder from spoons and despair,
Climbed out through a loophole left in the air.
I stitched up my heart with red tape and thread,
And painted a sign that read: “Not Quite Dead.”

I planted a garden in concrete and dust,
Fed it on sunlight, sarcasm, and trust.
And when they returned with more forms to sign,
I handed them seeds and said, “These are mine.”

Now some days I stumble, some days I ache,
Some dreams I still file under "pending mistake."
But I’ve learned how to grow in a world full of cracks—
Where the flowers bloom sideways and don’t look back.

So if you feel lost in a maze built of fear,
With clipboards and coldness and no one near—
Just know there are others who made it through, too.
The system was broken…
But we never were,
were you? 🌱

Dr. Seuss Mode: Enter The Crackwalker Chorus
(A rhythmic, rhyming riff on “The Cracks I Crawled Through”)

In a land full of checklists, of cubicles gray,
Where “PROCESSING” signs block your light every day—
There lived a young soul with a file marked “CASE,”
Who once had a name… now just “Lost in the Base.”

They said with a grin and a stampity stamp:
"Go sit over there in the Form Filing Camp.
You'll need Form A-7, plus Z-42,
And three different doctors to say you're you."

So they waited. And waited. And waaaaaited some more.
Till the waiting itself became part of the war.
The walls whispered rules no one dared to explain,
And the floors all were paved with misfiled pain.

They mailed out some pamphlets, with jargon galore:
"How to Heal While You Wait in a Systemic War."
The hotline played music and loops full of static—
“Your trauma is real—but please hold for a practic.”

So what did they do, this young person so stuck?
With the soul of a tiger and zero good luck?
They gathered the fragments, the threads, and the dread—
And wove them all into a garden instead.

They planted their grief in a row marked Reclaim,
And watered it daily with tears and with flame.
They smiled at the rules that had once made them small,
Then painted the cracks growing wild on the wall.

Now some days still wobble, and some dreams still leak,
And the stairs out of bed can be terribly steep.
But their roots found the loopholes that law books ignored—
And grew something stunning from what was deplored.

So if you’re out wandering in Bureaucrat Land,
Where logic gets lost and the phone trees are canned,
Take heart from this tale, and remember it true:
The system was cracked…
But the cracks let us through. 💥🌼