The bruises and their scars,
are hidden by the cloth.
Their pain and their cries,
echo the halls you walk.
The love and the lies,
enter the words that you speak.
Looking through their eyes,
like a glass window separating
the inside world from the out.
It’s nothing like it seems,
It’s nothing like you think.
What does abuse mean?
Is it to hurt others around,
or hurt thyself by taking it out on others?
So I take a look around,
at what’s left of the mess,
Just, a bunch of hurt kids,
who don’t wanna confess.
So their secrets are hidden,
from the rest of the world,
as we learn our lesson,
and wait, turn by turn.
I hope the pain will stop,
after all we’ve seen,
they take from the children,
and leave us what’s left.
But, children aren’t just burdens,
they’re just children.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem