For as long as I have known how to
I have kept my anger concealed within me
I have kept it in a black box
With dark red chains made of steel.
Every time I get a little angry I store it
Within my box; even though every time I do,
I feel the pain inside of me
That I can’t stop unless I stop concealing.
I can’t find anything to let my anger out on
Because every time I try to, someone gets hurt
And when that happens I get angry at myself
And I have to conceal more anger and cause myself more pain.
So no matter how hard I try to keep from hurting people
There’s still always going to be one person I’m still hurting
I’m still hurting myself
And I doubt that will ever stop.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is such a sad poem bubba: '(but you'll only stop hurting yourself when you let your pain go and try to be happy. Only you can control whether you'll be happy or not.