When the heart is bruised, tender, and torn,
We lash out in storms, forgetting we’re worn.
In the mirror of pain, we reflect what we feel,
But wounding another won’t help us heal.
A bitter word, like a shard of glass,
Cuts deep into others, but the ache will pass.
Pain is a cycle that grows, not shrinks,
And pouring it out doesn’t mend our cracks, our chinks.
To hurt when hurt is a hollow release,
A fleeting moment of vengeful peace.
But wounds within fester left to decay,
While the hurt we gave others may never fade away.
So tend to your scars with patience and care,
Don’t add to the burdens others bear.
For healing begins where compassion starts,
Not by tearing, but by mending hearts.