Okay, so I hesitated a little before sharing this. I feel a little overexposed, but art is about expressing yourself; it's therapy. So here I am, sharing my traumas in the form of a poem.

English is my second language, but I can express my feelings better in English than in Hungarian.

I hope you'll enjoy :)

When I sing it’s not a pretty sound

It’s a war cry when I’m on the ground

My melody is painful, harsh and raw

Because I know what I just saw

I saw myself as a little child

Lonely, broken, trauma piled

This kid had so much to give

But almost nothing to receive

She wants love and affection

But all she gets is rejection

Her soul once so pure

Now it is in need of a cure

Not some pills or strong medication

Jut a real heartfelt conversation

Her one and only chance

If she can get up and dance

She doesn’t know how

But she knows she won’t take a bow

She is too stubborn

She will break the pattern

She is a little phoenix

She’ll learn the survival basics

She’s on the ground, beaten

Her mother’s words are poison

Her tongue spills out insults

But her venom has no result

This kid looks at her mother’s palm

The one that caused so much harm

She wipes her all tears away

She wasn’t a plan anyway

She was her birthmother’s mistake

All the love her adoptive mother gave was fake

She’s an experiment to prove a point

The kid thinks all she did was disappoint

She was never going to be enough

Her mother’s love, it was tough

Her hands came down fast

The girl never prepared for the blast

Her body was never black and blue

But her soul, it always knew

A child should never be afraid

All of her traumas are homemade

I know she’ll be strong and brave

She’ll get that unconditional love she craves

She’ll learn how to be better

Her soul troubled because of her mother

But she will always find a way

To push the darkness far away

She’ll cope with humor and clever comebacks

But she’ll always prepare for any attacks

She’ll learn how valuable she really is

But that parental love, she’ll always miss

She’ll learn she’s the only one she’ll have to please

But she’ll never get back her soul’s lost piece

Melancholic is what my soul’s melody will be

But I learned to never plea

I am myself, I’ll always love that little girl

And I will never be defied by my mother

I’m not my ethnicity, sexuality or gender

I know myself, I’m enough, I won’t surrender

I will rise above that awful role

And one day I’ll change the melody of my soul.

Vivien Molnár

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