Noise Outside Poem by David Self

The Noise Outside
Some people wear beautiful faces
while carrying knives beneath their smiles,
speaking softly in your presence,
then sharpening your name
when you have left the room.
There is an ugliness
that never shows in a mirror—
it lives in envy,
in small betrayals,
in hands that reach for yours
only to learn where best to let go.
I used to answer every wound,
chase every whisper,
stand at the door of every rumour
asking, Why me?
Now I sit.
I breathe in what is here.
I breathe out what is not mine.
The Buddha taught the mind
not to become the thing that wounded it—
not to return anger for anger,
not to drink poison
and call it justice.
So I release them.
Not because they were right,
but because my peace
is worth more than proving them wrong.
Let them speak.
Let the backstabbers sharpen their stories.
Let the jealous build their little kingdoms
out of whispers and suspicion.
I do not have to enter every battlefield
just because someone
has called my name.
There is strength
in silence.
Strength in walking away
without needing the last word.
Strength in knowing
that another person's darkness
does not require me
to carry a candle into it.
I close the windows of my mind.
Outside, the world can roar—
opinions, gossip, judgement,
praise, rejection,
love that changes its face.
Inside, I return to breath.
To stillness.
To the quiet space
where no one can betray me
because I no longer hand them
the key to my peace.
And perhaps this is awakening:
not becoming hard,
but becoming unattached.
Not becoming cold,
but becoming clear.
Seeing the ugliness in others
without allowing it
to grow roots inside yourself.
So let the noise remain outside.
I have a quieter world to tend.
A mind like still water.
A heart that does not chase.
A spirit that does not retaliate.
And when someone turns their back on me,
I will not turn mine into a weapon.
I will simply keep walking—
lighter,
quieter,
and free.