A Poem: “When the World Doesn’t Play Fair”

By Hunter Blakley

At only 7 years old,
I was learning the meaning of darkness—
not the kind that flickers in closets or hides under beds,
but the kind that lives inside people
in the worst ways.

I was learning that the world doesn’t always play fair,
that fairytales and princess stories were just that:
make-believe.
Because little girls like me don’t often grow up
and get their happy endings.
Sometimes instead,
they grow up and get mental health diagnoses
and medications with names
they never knew how to pronounce.

Sometimes, lullabies get replaced
with haunting memories of the worst nights of their lives.
And sometimes,

bedtime becomes a battleground—
where “bad dreams”
aren’t just bad dreams,
but unnerving retellings
of things no child should ever know are possible.

Sometimes, little girls grow up
and learn to smile instead of cry,
because crying gets you labeled
an attention seeker,
a liar,
a problem.

They learn how to wear silence like armor—
how to swallow screams
and speak in polite tones
so no one asks too many questions.
They carry guilt that was never theirs,
wrapped in shame
and handed down like family heirlooms.

They forget who they were
before the world decided for them.
Before their names became case numbers.
Before their stories were rewritten
by people who only cared about a narrative
that suited themselves.

Sometimes, little girls grow up
and they stop dreaming of fairytales and princesses,
And they begin to dream of a time where maybe the world will play fair.

But here’s the thing—
we can’t rewrite the past,
can’t undo the nights that shaped us,
but we can build something better
for the ones still learning
what safety should mean.

That’s why CASA matters.
Because when the world doesn’t play fair,
CASA doesn’t play by the world’s rules.
They don’t silence pain,
they don’t minimize stories,
they don’t ask children to be smaller
just to be seen.

CASA shows up
when others won’t.
They offer what every child deserves—
compassion,
support,
real mental health care
with no strings attached.

They help little kids who often spent nights like I did

Trying to negotiate with the darkness,
Kids who are still caught in the quiet chaos
of “what happened”
and “why didn’t anyone help me?”

But I want you to know,
to truly, truly know that your donation…
It’s not just a number.
It’s therapy sessions.
It’s safety plans.
It’s hope delivered
to the exact places
that fairytales never reached.

Because healing shouldn’t be a fantasy.
And every child deserves
a chapter that doesn’t end in silence.
With your help,
CASA can keep turning pages.