When did it become so hard,
To tell the truth,
And show our scars?
When did we decide that we,
Must hide our hurt,
To distant lands,
Within our heads,
Dulled and dead,
Never to be shared aloud,
Instead we’re silent,
Proud of juggling life so well,
Proud we manage not to tell,
Proud our lives look good to all,
But pride’s what comes before a fall.
And so we hide hurt rather well,
But deep inside it starts to swell,
Until we’re taken with the tide,
Of all the things we tried to hide,
And then our secrets are no more,
Our problems spill upon the floor,
Seeping, sliding making mess,
Whilst others sidestep,
We couldn’t manage any more.
We hid our scars but they’re still raw.