I was raised to trust a uniform

I was raised to trust a uniform

I was raised to trust a uniform,
to trust a teacher,
to trust the police,
to trust the doctors.

I was raised—
they were mostly men.
Trust the policeman,
trust the teacher,
trust the doctors.

But as I grew,
beliefs dissolved in whispers,
news of family,
stories of power abused.

I do not believe in God,
so trust was my higher power.
Raised to believe in helpers,
raised to believe in need—
until every hand I reached for
tightened its grip.

Now I trust nothing.
No one.
Not social media,
not the BBC,
not Parliament.

Once, I was young,
full of trust.
Now, in midlife,
trust has vanished.

And I wonder—
when I need someone,
who will I trust?

Who can have my trust?
That’s the question.

Perhaps no one.
Perhaps nothing.

A question
I will carry
to the end.

And still—
who will I trust,
who can have my trust?

(breathe)
if anyone

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