To speak ill of those who wronged you, is to speak ill of yourself,
Is to show poor manners. That's what I've been told
So you walk away, and you stay quiet.
You keep to yourself, is what I've learned.
I block it all out, and I think I've moved on.
But no, I'm haunted by all I've seen, and all I've witnessed
Then I comfort myself, I've seen it all
I can no longer be shocked at what lengths humanity can reach
The malicious can no longer be in my presence
But I should've known, it wasn't the end
You should always know, the wicked never quit,
Undoubtedly, in your absence, it's half-chance they parade all over your name
Could it be good? No, it must be bad.
It could be fabricated,
Or half-truths are spoken?
They give others the key to the window of their twisted world
And just as you finally step into the light,
Away from their murky reality,
Once you've felt you've finally broken free…
You begin to reminisce of the few good times
Then truth slaps you away from a lingering gaze
But this is the price you pay for allowing others into your life.
It's not bad, it's not good.
It just is.
Walking out sometimes may feel like walking into the sunlight after a long dark night
It could be a cloudy morning after a long drunken night
It could be the nauseating feeling after stepping off a rollercoaster ride
You never bargained to get on
You walk in a daze, looking out for the end of a maze.
I can never promise you how long it will all clear,
Or how hard it would be to finally feel serine,
But I do know, it ends
You'll have the bitter after taste
But for once, you'll know for sure, you're alert.
To leave, simply to walk away has proven to never be enough
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem