Once upon a time there was a group of birds
They had traditions and very strict rules
They all lived in a tree and never left it
Because if one flew away, they would be seen as a freak

There was one little bird
At first he seemed to be like the others
But in reality, he had a dream
He wanted to escape the tree

He told his mommy about it but she scolded him,
Saying he should stay here as this is as it's supposed to be.
The little bird got sad but had to obey the rules
Over time he got older

The other birds liked him a lot
But one day he declared that he's leaving and no one can stop him.
In that moment, the birds forgot about his good qualities, talents
And started hating him

The little bird started to get bullied
Mocked
He just wanted to dissapear
He regretted his words

Months passed and it was time,
The day he was supposed to fly away
But the little bird wasn't there to experience his new found freedom
The other birds pushed him over the edge way too soon.

I enter the bathtub filled with warm water
To wash away the stress and trauma.
The liquid which used to bring me so much comfort
And so much fear.

The water i used to warm my hands with,
The water i used to make food i hoped no one knew about,
The water i gave my dying dog,
The water that kept me alive.

And i sit there, thinking about it.
About everything that can happen
In the span of 4 years.
Earth is a strange place indeed,
As it is filled with water.

In this world, to gain success,
You have to start young.
Why?
Because grown-ups aren't that special, silly.

When a child draws a picture
It's more special that if an adult made it.
The younger you start, the more talented you seem
Even if it's not true.

As a child i wrote a story and was labeled "gifted".
Now if i wrote the same thing, i would be a degenerate.
Your skills are supposed to grow along with your age.
So this is why you have to start young,
To be valid at least for a while.

Leaving the house,
The memories,
Pain and happiness.
The child that used to live there.

Sometimes you leave too soon,
Sometimes you just have to.
For the good of the other people
Still locked inside.

You can't help but worry about them,
But you can't change anytning,
Now that you left.
But it is what you wanted, is it not?

You thought leaving the house would help you
But it only made it worse.
You have the life you wanted,
But at what cost?

When he was little he promised his mommy:
"I won't be like daddy, i swear!"
But promises are often broken
Especially when the person who made it, is broken too

He tried to keep his promise
But he failed.
He failed at everything.
A failure.
Ironic, isn't it?

The little boy turned into a young man
14 years old is a big boy after all
And the little boy slowly began dissapearing.
His mommy didn't like his changes
But he couldn't help himself

Why be a lawyer when you can
Rot in bed reading psychology?
Write poems, losing yourself in your own world?
Become an actor?

But he broke the promise.
Became so fake, being an actor wasn't a problem at all.
He lost the little boy he was before.
But he was still there.

Today, he says "i'm sorry".
But it's too late.
The little boy is dead.

Maybe it's reality
Or maybe i'm just weak
I have no reason to paint pernament lines on my wrists, do i?
Other children work too, don't they?

That were the words of my dear mother
Who lulled me into sleep with pain
Pain caused by her boyfriend who despised me almost as much
As my differences

My house is not normal enough to be good
But not bad enough to be normal
At least that's what i was forced to believe since the
oh so perfect age of ten

Another year, another therapist.
Beginning at the age of 7 and not stopping ever since
Each therapist stealing a bit of my trust
Soon i start making up people to not just stay quiet

Scared of exposing my secrets
The failed attempts in achieving perfection
Or at least what 12 year old me thought was perfection.
The addictions, thoughts, experiences

All locked inside me
To only come out to strangers passing by
And taking the information with them
Keeping their mouths shut.

Tell me, when did daddy's little boy
Become daddy's little toy?

Is writing a gift,
Or is it a curse?
I could be a doctor, a lawyer, a nurse,
But i chose to be a disgrace instead.

I sit in my room, writing nonsense
That no one's ever gonna read.
Random words, without any context
Among other plants, a simple ****

A normal person sees this as a waste of time,
Takes away my notebook
Little did they know, it was the only thing keeping my sanity intact.

Dziecinna zabawa w kota i myszkę
O życie.
Jak uciekanie po kątach
Zamkniętej przestrzeni,
Mając nadzieję na wydostanie się
Poza niezniszczalne ściany.
I zakończenie,
Groźba i obietnica.
"Nie mów nikomu, wiesz co się stanie".

My brain tells me to fight
But my heart says no

Hands working to get the supplies
For their master.
Used, exploited.
For other people's comfort.

They breathe the same air
As the "masters"
But are shamed for it.
For wasting the oxygen
The "master" needs.

The reason you're hated, the
Reason your life is miserable, everyone is
Against you just because you're alive.
Nobody sees you as the true gender you are, they only
See you as a confused freak. They say that
God created you to be whatever you were born as,
Even though you're extremely uncomfortable because of it.
No one understands you, they see you as an abnormality.
Dysphoria begins to take over your body, mind and soul, the
Everlasting hate spreading around you. Being transgender is
Rough.

Hearing your voice
And seeing your face
Traumatizes me more than i'd care to admit
Even though i was supposed to be strong.

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The strange feeling,
Headaches, not being able to sleep.
I'm sure you've felt it before,
It's almost like a special kind of love
That hurts.

So close,
Yet so far.
It cannot be defined,
Nor fully felt.
You're always trapped.

Imagine a little child
Wandering through the streets all alone,
With nothing but a tiny backpack
And a toy in their hand.

No one stops to ask if they're okay,
No one wants to look at them,
Most people don't even aknowledge them.

And they only care
When the child gets hit by a car,
Dissapears from existence.
To never be seen again.

A minute, a day
Takes another life away.
Showing the truth
Through obvious lies,
A poem is written,
The writer dies.

If you see this,
Maybe at least pay attention this time?

To the words and how they're written
If you even care.
Reader,
Enlighten me, what would change if i
Died?

What if
There are
Two Gods?
One false,
Popular,
And the true one,
Known by only few.

Why should i stay,
When everyone i love leaves anyway?
When they become a name,
Something "we don't talk about".
Why do you expect me to not do the same?

Slicibg through like a knife,
Filling you with invisible wounds
As you quietly bleed out.