When I was five,
my mother told me I was loved.
Years later, she asked me to leave because
I was the reminder of the gruesome past that haunted her.

When I was ten,
my father told me he believed in me.
Years later, he refused to accompany me because
I was an embarrassment to him in front of the society.

When I was fifteen,
my friends told me I was funny.
Years later, they all laughed at me because
I was the gullible teenager who fell for their flawless façade.

When I was twenty,
this guy said I was beautiful.
Years later, he trashed me, tormented me because
I was ignorant enough to overlook my inevitable flaws.

So, sorry for not believing in you,
for questioning your intentions, inclusively, in-depth
when you told me you loved me because
I didn’t want to wind up years later,
learning it the hard way that people often don’t mean what they say.

The playground is getting dark
It’s almost time to go
Finally I smile and lean my head back
And then I go and swing some more

My neck strains as I'm
Swinging to and fro
Isn’t this playground lovely?
I laugh and swing myself some more.

I tighten the rope a little more
There’s still a little way to go.
But better safe than happy
So off the shaky seat I go
Swinging to and fro.

I dangle from my rope
There’s nothing left at all
There’s a smile on my face
As you watch me
Swinging to and fro.

Welcome to the Brookwood bathroom,
A place of sorrow, a place of gloom.
What happened here will happen again,
Which is why I pen this silent refrain.

Here come the girls who use the mirror,
Which was designed to help you see you clearer.
But with every stroke they distort their faces
'Til all that's left is nameless traces.

And here comes the child who cries herself to sleep,
Though during class her sanity she keeps.
But once her class ends, she rushes to the stall.
The monsters in her head begin their free-for-all.

And here comes the girl with her body a mess.
She tears it up at the slightest sign of stress.
She comes into here to slice up her arm.
One more victim in this war on self-harm.

Here comes the boy who stays after each day.
He thinks by hiding here he can get away.
He knows his parents are fighting at home,
And he's scared his dad won't leave him alone.

And here comes the child who binds their ******* in here.
They live their life cowering in fear.
Feeling like neither a woman nor a man
And lately they've been asking themselves if they can.

And here comes the teacher who's stressed to the max
She feels as though she's bound to collapse.
She chose this job in order to make a difference
But all she's met with is loathing and bitterness.

Now it's time to say goodbye
The transition bell is looming nigh.
Leave behind the wanness and sorrow
And leave me to cope with it all again tomorrow.

Hours of labor, and minutes of rest
Only to be taken away from the breast.
Months of pain, hardship, and fear,
But, in the end my decision is clear.

I am not ready to bear a child on my own
My partner has left me; I am all alone.
My baby will do well in the hands of another,
Anyone but me could be a better mother.

So I hand off my child into the arms of a nurse,
Knowing for the rest of my life I'll be cursed.
She cradles her gently, and holds her with care,
While I lay there and wallow in self-hate and despair.

She brings back my daughter all squeaky and clean
Her new parents follow with eyes all agleam.
They name her Grace, meaning "gift from God,"
I smile and laugh, feeling like a fraud.

I hand her over, my baby no more,
As she leaves my hands, I feel a jolt in my core.
I'll never see her again, but I know this is right,
They're taking my darkness to turn it to their light.

I drive away from the hospital, with a wave and a smile
Knowing I'm leaving behind my child
...

They think happiness is a bouquet of helium balloons. Picture everyone in the world, each holding a bunch of balloons on strings. Most people's balloons are plump and bouncy, and they float really well. Some people's balloons might be droopy because they're sad, or sick or something. So the people that know me think my balloons are just droopy, and they try to help. They say, "Here, have some helium. Let's get your balloons all floaty again." But I'm not holding any balloons at all. So even if they gave me helium- tanks and tanks of it- there's nothing to put it in. My balloons are just completely missing.

If I allowed myself to trust you
Would I have chosen right?
Should I believe that you can help me?
Or should I retreat again into my night?

See, every time I've tried to trust
I've always gotten burned.
Could this time end up differently?
Have the tables finally turned?

Please understand I'm slow to trust
And even slower in sharing my soul.
Patience and a kind ear are what I need.
Can you provide these, and console?

I have hidden my pain from many a friend
And have held in my tears for many a day.
Can you uncover these hidden relics?
Or will you use my sorrow as your hideaway?

For trust is like the words that you use;
Easy to say, but impossible to retrieve.
'Cause once you've trusted and been broken down
you learn to keep your heart off of your sleeve.

So that is why I pen this poem:
To try to express my feelings to you.
I'm truly trying to trust again,
But the betrayals I've felt are too hard to eschew.